seven forty nine. seven hundred forty nine;
seven hours, forty minutes, nine more—
the twenty fourth of the third month, eight pounds,
three times eight is twenty four. twenty fours?
no, twenty then four more. and like you’ve
pressed CLEAR on the calculator:
“Shut the fuck up, shut up. Look outside.”
& so I do.

the window is lined with some black thing.
breakable, breakable? hold it tight. it’s gone.
what else is gone? fifty different things, and
three more. because it’s seven fifty three,
time is slipping by like a little leaf on the sidewalk:
four others around it, running with the wind,
tears of trees, ripped. weeping gold, rust, blood.
then, like the water dotting stains on the glass:
MOVE ON
& so I do.

i’m nauseous.
nauseating. whatever.
whatever.
it’s all bleeding
down and off, you
you, on
we? why
can’t we all stop
do you feel the same,
do you also
feel
like
SHIT
when i’m around?
when we’re
around, when,
around— around it
all, around the room
around the closet around
the hallways, around
the corner around that broom
around the road,
will it ever stop feeling like
you are
AROUND,
will it ever
stop feeling like
i’ve held our pieces
together and
bled, will it ever
stop
feeling like
what
i’m feeling is
stupid, will
you ever feel like
a story; a joke,
let’s run circles.
circles? i’m good at that:
so this this this and then,
and then,
that, therefore this, so
this this and then, then,
that, as a consequence:
this. this this then then that
this.
this
this
then then that.
You trail in like a tail. You
pull on my head until I
stretch: you wrap your
hand around my wrist.
A circle: a noose. A noose.
& so I do.

in my ear, a hi hat ticks away.
my clock, now. going three times
a second, time’s slipping.
eight. eight.
eight exactly.
eight hundred.
& so we do.