we’re on record, skipping around in the washington post amazon
buys. the store greeter hawks a poetics: what is love? the answer:
heavy possibility, the sag of the feeling of a time you miss, the balls
full of cum—the the-the-the, that’s all. in other words, monopoly.
the year we did not see each other’s faces. in other words, wrong
question. that shit is adjunct, hole of the essential. like a septa we
sunk our life into. that tease of the page-to-page life. listen, where
we left off i was saying don’t play basketball when i’m talking
about heraclitus. but you play basketball. and i talk about heraclitus.
we dribble in the same river twice. the river is broke and the black-
bird is flying. the adjunct, my friend, is blowing in the wind.