one of these four

the first was in danger. it kept trying to seem different from itself.

i found one

though tomorrow it will be gone

safer in the dark

fake skin made of smooth flawless steel
won’t protect anything.

circles inside circles

patterns of sounds
meaning buried under sound

what we’re made of

we believe we’re made of rocks, or wood—
but it’s something else.

reality is amorphous

reality is amorphous;
slippery.

nobody can get a grip on it.

delete memory

you curate the surface of your life
weeding out what you don’t like

the library

some days feel old, like they’re reused
even though they’re unfolding as new ones.

i know what she wants

i know what she wants.
she’ll do anything to hang on to it.

wind up

the memory of action
freezes into a motionless instant