It’s too early to start now. It’s better to end, to get to the ending, even if it's just a re-creasing of the book. Or stay in the middle, huddle in space where no one is looking; no one’s looking for you, anyway. But it’s too early to start…
It’s crashing, again. It leverages its plot to smack the head into the next frenzy, a pure gobbling with the eyes. But palm outward to defend the wave, the ruins, the sight passing through the empty en route to the dead and forgetting.
I don’t want to decide on virtues. I don’t want to stay away. It’s a good thing my wishes are being taken into account. But there’s debt on that account, too, and under the pillows and cushions, I launch a ballistic missile into a heap of intentions that had to go.
I was learning how to embrace again, but it’s too early to start now. I am learning about waiting now, and how to avoid going fucking nuts.
J.D. Harms 2021