by James Croal Jackson
up treacherous stairs at the end of January to sit in the hiddenroom at the back of the Tapwhere we question west elm shelves the green-lit décora chicken bone and Catholicschool what I have learnedis instead of being funnyjust talk about triangleshanging on white wallsthe weird will happenmath emotions a geometry like which-year-Texas- Instrument calculatoryou wrote 80085 on was it 84 was it 83what I learned everythingis improvisationalthe drink selection the sidewalk ice theweather our atomsbouncing off eachother’s atoms inquantum uncertaintywhere will this goif we sew shut our fervent minds andlisten to what wedon’t know next will ever happen, ever
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