slips

“right now, looking at the ground, distance was the first thing to go, rolling”

“snatch, snatch,
a heightened handshake”

“rolling so far, yet a great intimacy told, hinges on barter”

“disorder gradually stores unanswered necessities – under an unmade bed was a painting of an unmade bed”

“smile, name, ask,”

“hinges resist with such virtuosity the painful patterns – you sketched on a scrap of paper some natural condition, it looked like we could invent initiative or at least a mock-up, practically all the rest of the world was based on mirrors, that is what you said, there was a faddishness to the way you faced first things, almost as if the word first was itself pure whimsy”

“from the sure side of disorder, based solely on a painting that is, it had never actually been witnessed, the sure side gradually laid claim to untaming”

“point of calling, water of time, crawl out from”

“snatch, snatch, grab”

“the ground from a distance, was that something we could be sure of? the slightest whiff of a guarantee convinced even the greats, I had heard you describe slips in right now, they sounded like epigraphs”

“such moments do not take practice”