and then our exile

- tyranny of words. this is, these are each, but this is, this, the final moment, between, and, forgiven, the grand, to hide - too grand, even the words, descending into silence, and even th where this continuous need to explain, engrained apologetics, to remove from life, the half-step, and elaborate, when instead...

i never knew if

collaborative, incidental, casualties - of postmodern'ty?

- it does not matter. tyranny - words, time, place/space.

the river is dark but the water is clear

nearly exactly a year ago, so near. but then i left the house, i was driven out, to a cafe, two cafes, to sit in the night and watch the night, and pause, before the inevitable(? drop, when opened i violence to the paper, folded in front of me, and pen, to mark, the inimitability of that single weighted moment. then, the point. so the role of this?