Set to noon. Exile workstation, shadow cafeteria, sever lavatory.
Rend cafeteria, dismantle lavatory, wedge workstation into wall,
slide cafeteria below grade, raise up garden—the basics
did write it, did stretch, did redact
stuttering in some small way
as of the future. He said that K was not yet, was both
himself and catastrophe, weightless
sentencing and “‘wrong’ words”
where poems once were.
All K and leaning on dizziness.
IN AND OUT: the guts. A reduction stuck
to some small way, unstuck a metropolis
of sordid expenditure
disguised as stills from old movies in which the quays
stumble but impending night is “funny, sensual, macabre and illuminating”
OR BY APPOINTMENT. A work-in-progress
is not defective something cast
of catastrophe, therefore
rubble, he articulated.
The “z” of furious geese.
