In the beginning is the paper, blank and void.
That’s the way you buy it, the unwritten “word”.
The clean slate of your law-abiding citizen

We made a black thing
out of light-without effort.

Can’t you see I’m the one bearing
the perfect attendance medal
across my chest, and an award

The sky has come down around us like a shroud.

Use plain language.

Wind shrieked a desperate warning. Then the train—shaft
of iron!—running right through me! I slammed the book on
my finger.

Strands of hair pushed through the floorboards,
and once the whole corpse
came late to a party.

vive morte ma seule saison
lis blancs chrysanthèmes

The forest comes down at night. She waits until the last tram has left, then sets off. She meets the drunks—with eyes half-shut they pass through her, they stumble but don’t curse. The forest walks steadily on. 

That light behind the Olympics at supper hour—
it takes a sky of clouds from here to there
to spot the sun, seam and snow just right.

Bob’s brother was born invisible, but through chance we can only call miraculous, he survived the delivery room and those dangerous early days on the planet. In fact, no one noticed him, although Bob’s mother did feel a second squeeze and jolt ten minutes after Bob was out. The