nothing is remembered, nothing is forgotten—

what if I tell you, this life is just a dream?

I don't remember anything, only but the letters

falling, ringing into the tongue of a bell

streaming, humming into the ears of thin

foggy man, how far can you go & drive?

swing to the left, hard to build a house—

swing to the right, how do vision with one another

overlapping dice, in the darkness they possibly are

six, four, two, one.

not to mention why, but when I say telephone silence—

it gives a chance to think, in outer corners

lighting in a thunderstorm night,

a pen tilted back in my hand, I'm building history

in ocean waves, that suddenly becomes

a heartbreaking conclusion.

never heard, never read, only poised in the

tip of playmaker badges, tongue: trying to remember

hard, struggling, floated in a flatbed trailer

and you're still beating out to know,

what's it actually?

— 3rd November, 2023