See it like this
the morning
where the evening
and its
tendencies unravel
are
relived.
If in this
morning--shame
glots the
chest--as if no one ever drank--evidence, evidence—
if in this
morning there should also be weather
then it’s
already over. You’re finished, you morning
if the wind
blows
orange
across the mad
rational hulk of your buildings
the non-human
context of your beach silence,
coming
from nowhere to nowhere
—see, like this
and if not? Still
missing Them
things about
them times with
their
families
-- ah god--
everything
gets tossed, it’s the commerce of just
the lowest
prices
