--but I feel it upping on my liver like a bird caught and making that terrible violent knocking noise flapping itself to bloody exhaustion. ANXIOUS That's it. I point to the air, at the word floating in space & time & time: Again, I'm talking to myself in front of a room of people-- (Quick! put that hand down.) but can't stop a spot in time forgot and got moved on to get lost every night, fizz to fill the shape by morning it's all resolidified brick floating in a woman shape to nurse & chink away, to buff & smooth in vain effort, to hone an image of all the words I know, half the people I know, and some smaller bits of world I don't. and what emerges is a composition unrecognizable, a wild creature augmented beyond what is desirable in space & space & time. Rip it open at the liver. Let some great eagle descend.
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