Awake Before Being Woken
The chance is to run out of sleep and as with the arc of a vaulter here already in correspondence; little bricks of familiarity still lodged in the images; is it you still asleep turning over in the bed or the sound of the blood in the blood vessel in my ear? First thought is death—we know that. The second assesses the stages of light (whatever I am doing there is an occurrence surrounding me). I want to open something private and give it a name; walking through the exact; the rupture of dawn repeats. It would be better if we were listening to the same tone together, but the noun is engorged and we don’t think we can have it (alt: I tried to press through the material but was fatigued and could only gesture toward an imagined spot in front of us). Who will feel the line buzzing in the jaw? Anchored right here?