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we might have died a long time ago what we call the universe might be a fragment of a recall collapse of a once-coherent consciousness engulfed in the vast spring darkness middle-aged people on bikes get exercise before it’s dark I left in the middle of the wedding to drive up to see you what do I do when nothing is beautiful anymore the whole method integrating the self begins to crumble I begin to feel like a rat in a vast experiment ruled by impulses habits bursts of serotonin I haven’t gone a waking hour without looking at my phone for years because I’m trapped in the logic the world I live in it’s getting cold have to take a scarf from the tangle of books notebooks pens the water-jug a half-eaten block of cheese in my knapsack
