Assembling the dissembling. The pieces so familiar, & polished with disdain…
Then Infanta calls to say she knows she’s perfected the exterior for all these years.
My cheekbones feel scoured & hard tonight. Jade & garnet stones sleeping
On the black-&-white tray at the bedside. Polished with disdain. In this
Light, it’s impossible to know if I have a face anymore or simply
The moonlit mask of a face. (Flesh of bread; flesh of murder; flesh of winter;
Flesh of wine.) I think I’ll take a walk by the river tomorrow, listen in a bit at
My old university…. “My ambition here is the collapsing of several languages
Upon one another, all the while subtracting the narrative armature until only
The activated field of the implied narrative remains.” Wow, that was really
A cool lecture!—Remind me again why any of us gives a shit, OK?