Thursday, April 22, 2021

Deception has Never not been the Objective

Buds on maple trees, one yard over. Cardinals. It's hard not to read the signs, being basically designed to read signs but still, can you for one minute not read the fucking signs? Ceramic tigers covered in dust, amethyst that hasn't been washed in years. What do you put on toast, a surprisingly fruitful inquiry. Surprised to learn that "come" as a sexual verb has been around for centuries. The night we met I sat out back with a camping lantern, nearly done with law school, watching moths flutter, naming them and writing poems, happy and calm in a way that has neither precisely left nor settled down within me. Shall we at last then drop the charade? One goes back to their notes and realizes that deception has never not been the objective. What do we do when we begin, what actually starts, does anything end, et cetera. I mean I'm here now, now what.

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