There’s something like no time
to write this. A dog, unlike the dog
I hear barking, is barking. I have no time
to figure out what is emptying out about me being
the only one home and the private
wiping out writing does to obviousness and dread
or any of their relative terms.
I must go now. I mean I must go hard away
from this. The position is the day. The position
is the day away from this occurring to me
for much longer. The car is staring without
a person inside. The brown leaves are making more
of themselves than they’ve known in the air
that is left behind from ever turning off.