By Thomas Garback | @tcgarback
I try to keep facts in my head, like straining stew, the pores
widening now or narrowing now, or luggage on a conveyor belt
passing under the x-ray scan: my stubby spot of comprehension
where strings of silk slip down to blindly catch at corners, often
flailing
to steal so much as a coin and
then the gear, so quick to
exit, continues along rubber
plains,
adding to oblivion. I am
forever mortal, my dearest
companions
unmortalizing angels.
I do not mean for them to follow,
though I follow them.
