half-seen is only
half-believed;
if every uninterrupted
second of our lives
was an object
infatuated with its
image in the mirror—
in other words, its redoubled
but left-handed opposite—
then what does that say
about changing
the subject?
*
To simply begin again
would seem
more expedient
than an excess of oblivion.
But
knowledge and its limits
are provisional pairs
of binary digits.
A buyer's remorse code,
held "in contempt"
of what?
*
Take this mute testimony
of branches, for instance,
first puncturing, then devouring
every color on the horizon:
less like the rattling chains
of some dolorous phantom
than the chains of coincidence
and fate we get caught in—
tangled, we say
when we're lucky enough, but
strangled the one time
we're not.
