Archaeopteryx

you’re home. eating lentils. talking to yourloved one. you’re abroad. eating lentils. talking toyour loved one. you’re not yourself. you’ve been stolen.you’re talking to your lentils. you’re not a knife, not cotton.talking to your loved one. you forgot how to talkand forgot how to hang in the closet. you forgotthe letter p in the receit. you’re talking to cotton.it doesn’t answer. its life was not for you.a lot. too much. although there is never too much.you’re anywhere. eating lentils. talking to.she doesn’t answer. she went everywhere you went.she flew. when you fly—you can’t cry. you’retalking to her. she doesn’t answer. but there weretwo rooms. you didn’t know where. you wentanywhere. no one was drawing your loved one there.just a manuscript in the bottom drawer of the desk.and its feathers are petrified. along with two dozenof its vertebrae. you told your loved one about this.you ate lentils and it didn’t even rain. one hundred fiftymillion years—just the blink of an eye. in yourmanuscript. in the solnhofen schist.

One Morning

don’t read this text who knows whatit will open or close in you so read whatuntil now for so many years you read thatwill preserve you don’t believe thatwhich is impossible to believe and which is likethe poison in bona sforza’s ring or likeunexplored and never-to-be-exploredplanets don’t believe what I am writingfor our lives are too dissimilarsomewhere there remains a clockconnecting us but even it manages to stopfor we are too fragile. don’t read this texti am fated to bear it alone. ecce textus:one morning i left my house to wander city streets