Somebody threw a stone.Wasn’t my head the bit of air that got broken off?Isn’t the hole pierced in the world my thoughts?Since every kind of silence leaked out through that round holewe’re drunk.Like light suspended from streetlights without fallingit’s dreadful.Thinking.Like a knife blade bending near the heartthat a stone wound round with life’s blood vesselsriskily left turned on . . .I’m killing as much as is necessary.Fortunately, today the drink is clearso if I moisten the body’s wicklike a spring wound up till it breaksit will always be night. Is night just the flash of a gigantic stone passing?Might dreams be the forest where that stone falls?Because anything can return where it came frombut not in the same way it arrived, thereforethoughts do not heal.Something we can’t possess is wingsand what a bird can’t possess is a wish to fly.Because of its wingsa bird falls from the airand because we want to flywe fall endlessly from where we stand.Someone never stops talking.It’s not because I say I want to fly that I can’t fly.It’s not because I say I can’t fly that I don’t want to fly.We came flying.Like thoughts.Like thoughts.When one stone blazeslike a crimson heart at the tip of the knife that strikes itemitting black smokelike rain driving into the hole suspended above the throatlike sorrowI’m dying as much as is necessary. Did you realize?Holes break, too.One body, not breaking, an everlasting ground . . .One daywaking from sleep like a window breakingtaking my head in my handsa pebble that came flying long ago gets caught andtears go spreading like cracks.