fiction 

yes 

 

yes I will cultivate within me scrupulously the Inimitable

which is Loneliness

and from that (_____).... !

zing a thin gold string…

​

in the quiet I’ll spin some dreams

pull a slim thread from within,

coil its copper whorl, quivering 

 

I will hold discs of manna on my tongue, 

polish them with my matted braids, and laughing, 

string them alongside those lucid arcs 

where celestial bodies collide and time comes unwoven-

 

déjà vu :: origami unfolded 

 

could have been a dandelion or a firework, 

or maybe a mashed potato 

 

but my blood blossoms here &

now I’ll ovulate sparkle and fade

(opaque between soupy expanses of time-space) 

 

I’ll live & die & sign-my-name, 

 

k,

    a, 

        t,

 

            \ yep. 

 

            (what happened???)

​

& that's all there is to it.