empty solutions and body counts, peculiar urgencies; these people are going down the drain. bodiless bodies that helped (or didn’t help), references to ruins and misguided discoveries.

a gnarled tree, now hung with a reed of light slivering between drapes. an emphasis on the surfaces, the negative space that erupts; a kind of wily perversion between means and meaning, between something and nothing. a bit like a head, a bit more like a sort of generic waiting room.

we live in a moment, in the generous silence that a mouth or a scrawled word completes. this desolate landscape is naked and shivering, the people huddled in hushed tones.

i begin to see images, faces as irreducible mystery images, an abstractionist’s trifecta. a man carrying another man, drawing and redrawing a nightmare of catastrophic colorless hues of memory. at once winsome and brutal, a recast version of an unrealized, old, already dusty something.

the nobodies have perceived summary, elegiac reckonings, tied together reaches of empty space. the mirror, the rhyme of every moment made up of the sum of solitudes. decisions are made intuitively. decisions are keyed to unspoken feelings. we must learn to live with low-density hope.