My swirling wants. Your frozen lips. br The grammar turned and attacked me. br Themes, written under duress. br Emptiness of the notations. br br They gave me a drug that slowed the healing of wounds. br br I want you to see this before I leave: br the experience of repetition as death br the failure of criticism to locate the pain br the poster in the bus that said: br my bleeding is under control br br A red plant in a cemetary of plastic wreaths. br br A last attempt: the language is a dialect called metaphor. br These images go unglossed: hair, glacier, flashlight. br When I think of a landscape I am thinking of a time. br When I talk of taking a trip I mean forever. br I could say: those mountains have a meaning br but further than that I could not say. br br To do something very common, in my own way.