The object is incarcerated, reporting from there things
like “My guts lie down on the rue de la paix”
like “Everything explains them, then morning”
like “Ponder amnesia before you take my white aura for intelligence”
like “It’s possible that these dead birds have noticed everything we’ve done”
like “Exceptional stunts” or “Apparent disclosures”
like “My inadequacy rushes past school and resolves itself in your kind regard”
like “This childish urge to rebel cracks everything like marbles.”
The object is misconstrued that sent you this far. Whose terrific airs. Look.
Listen, we’ve been undermined by the weather. We’ll sit in chairs. Watch
the object taking form. A wave in [to, from, about] the day we couldn’t get back/to.