restructuring

it is easier at night

slip in spill words

in your car on a Thursday under orange streetlights and I am stripping.

you said you didn’t know what sickness was so I am subordinating

to my oppositional content because it is easier to present it

as a commodity

than to exist in it organically.

We’re just having a conversation.

in these jutting senses one must be self-limiting and tight-lipped. to be ugly and dissonant to the public but intimately tied and inconceivable without it.

your car is without memorable smells

so I remove my coat, skin, and automatic responses.

I can only look at the dashboard,

stable horizon.

sickness is implicit inks

impossible to staunch the speech

of taboos

I am just having a conversation at you

about sickness.

we can measure the joy in moral society with formal features. to be provocative in polite reality is only acceptable in silence. some people can manage the possibility of violence in stride, but this marks a definitive break.

There is a conversation going on

and I am split in two parts.

it is winter and the cold does not know

the boundaries of glass.

I wish I could be as still as snow,

but I can’t stop breathing.