It's on the line between famous
and notoriety, the space
between letting go and an in-
jurious complaint, misfired
representations, molecules
or maybe it's just another disastrous
electron cloud that's surrounded us?
Perhaps, mayhap, how about it?
At 2am, the night deflourescing,
eyes on the carpet and all I could
say was, "Hi?" It's like starting up,
not realizing it's the beginning and
the day is almost done. The way
anecdotes are made. Abby knows
her cubicle's in the Bermuda /\ . Switch
off her fan and her PC shuts down.
Suggestions included a power surge,
but in reverse? One follows the electrical
impulse until the string stops vibrating
or repeats itself until your lost. (Belch)
In my early poem, Ostrenyeni, I
surmised the world is shrinking
on us, ceilings lower, the journey to
discover answers to simple questions
quicker and no one left who believes
in Forms. "It's the power of the myopic
that's missing," says her mysterious
oblongata, the resolution of dissembled forms.