Lines, Phases, Corruptions 

One cannot be a single person.

One desires inert hands. 

Certain items are forgotten. 			

One can study, apply formulas. 

Then forgetting. 

The wind reminds me 

of your blank gaze.

Certain items are forgotten. 

Virgins, order, the small frame 

of judgement. 

My critical writing never breaks ground. 

I do not want to be a bracket. 

I want to be forgotten. 

Glass to glass, the blankness of holding, 

firm, firming. 

A door only opens on its hinges. 

How would one render 

what does not exist? 

Eat the carved face each day, 

still forget. 

I scale the mountain. 

I ache. 

“Ache” and “mountain” are items forgotten. 

Hands, even. 

Hands judge. 

Flexing keenly away,

a thought, a quiver,

from the Greek [	], for— 

shard of glass, little 

glint, 

little see, 	

little cut, 	

little hmm, 

even.