it is the light in things that makes them last. 

same light that is tearing up the sky is coming for us.

i'll take pictures as if I can easily forget what I've seen.

made from the pressure of dirt, i'm a gem.

i saw my little sister in the city and i felt like the little sister (i always have)

in two different occasions she said to me "some things never change" while grinning,

smiling, i remember when i used to make fun of her crooked teeth.

now they are pristine and straight. it's funny the things we remember. 

there are no new ways of understanding the world

only new days to set our understanding against.

apperception

the mantel changes into a cut, jump

on the brow where hair and time

have formed a new skin, the bird

changes into a pane of glass,

a new object to be desired changes into the bird

once again. things


seem to be improving: the flightless


curiosity of ground ridden birds

are few, the sky formerly resting,

now becomes the landscape seen through panes of glass.


words can't be paragraphs but the movement of sentences do tell us otherwise:


to call something magic is unfair. places where my eyes were.

we ought not to be watched over so closely. we need the freedom


of monotony. only then

can monotony magically happen.