this mosaic

“maybe you remember the sacrifice one-sunset threw
like the last party, half-broken from lack of use, lethargically sealing daybreak into afternoon, and do you remember how you tried to be proud

it was the way your hand wrapped around anything left falling which I vaguely recognised

sinking, you would read books overflowing with questions and play content

in a roundabout way sense made since reach within

passing underneath all thinking

coming to, while the others went on; everything had been clothed in trivia, whole chunks of phenomena were brought to bear

and little by little, since you may not remember, this mosaic, disassembled over time”

“moving around between humour and confession, but also making a gradual entry into a silent culture, maybe.. why not… those days so used to trying, so used to imitating, can this be all there is to it? what had taken place in the grooved mania was anything but, then at other times any pillow any familiar vacancy shaken to emptiness

then a paradox: talk is blind”

“leaving the street, stopping, looking at sky, sitting, smoking, stroking hair, inventing sighs, ah this upright life”

“such moments take practice”