anchored by the shape of if. these treaties have to be signed with a bleeding is that the way to go about trying to realign this large chunk of reality? or realia? or regalia? in the back-shadows of a private day slip how to gawk mawkish at the maggots in the beehive regard where who is? resonates as if a landslide hid evening. maybe heavy is the hearing aid blacked against talk of authors raining down, lifting around. a flow instance is reminded. on the point, reaching out into the sea, surrounded by sand in the warm dawn, there was a laundromat, standing open with no one around but a siam cat, stalking thru.