IV. Centuries
How can you prepare for what gives?
Sometimes the word consciousness
tastes good like a cigarette should.
From shoulder to shoulder, from penned
wing to absent pinion. Not my mind, just a sign
of an inch stabbed as consequence.
One instant in which the moment of knowledge
is inaccessible. The labor of presupposition.
A late blur. The first part of this science
should be gobbled up in silence, all down
the difficult path of poisoned roses. Remember
that photos are developed in the dark. You are
the one doing the thinking. Consciousness
like a phone off the hook. A signal that
time is about to get busy. Not a private affair.
Autumn -- suddenly last summer's Geist.
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