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to make my way to the charmed country — so the way to Sunland — well trying the mortician’s credo — my blood oath — smooth valley smooth hills & a rough entry into the airspace — avian — 137 dead, from a bird strike? — you can’t spend the ransom, the days are cycling — in a tongue known to Prussians — I demand the return — that from the silo — all that you’ve done to me — 2 years spent sleeping — finally, lifted — in a call now recognized — beyond belief you’ve done this to kill me — at the proper temperature — tarred on the butte — riddled with I am left with dreaming, lilted & turning — from the mouth of my purveyor, a ringing — context & the need — entering town — sunup — a miracle of words — this truly emergent condition — to leave you, calm and wanting — but as for the wandering — carbon infused in event of frost — to leave you — displayed on the signposts — I’ve made my requests — courtly proceedings — done for — in the boardinghouse — some future, some willingness — marking off my efforts — as our hero has returned to me — that which was said to me, before I emerged, to the new day with cold hands and wonder — dawned forward & awakened between 3 years — the historical present — between goalposts signaling this want or a fortnight — of wanting as groundwater swills, to bedrock from an aquifer, to form my halls, grand and stacked piecewise upward in differing density of wood grain, i.e. measuring (the rigidity based on humidity taken in amidst each spiral) — or to be cured of speech on each island — fine and measured — regretful, I am — and in meaning — in this city have I been found — as it is fifteen thousand novels that it will take me to rid of this thinking — a vengeful particular — one-of-a-kind — married at the end — which is to say a way of continuity between creatures, storehouses, the small valley upwards & again prone to leaking from the eastern halls of the villa called Montrose — sun-drenched in a room cordoned — a world outside growing churned between the mechanism of 3 reversals of fate — to sue a Swiss airline —

Opera month: January — cognizance now coming via lateral motion from a still boggy lowlands upward swung harsh & crisp towards understanding, listless, bugging, lifted or divined towards blank bored sorrow neither defined by use nor coming towards an egress, even, now, lifted — undue highway — a secret telling — an early attempt — usury — blinking — sea-life — moreover, a coming — wretched daylight crest easy neither away nor towards — a Venetian not having built such nonsense — stilted cool & becoming — away from the port — bringing in not just the interests of 1,000 generations outspanning you — a new novel — as I dreamt of a heavy beating so dreamy — and courteous, so heavy — with Aaron so calm in a new stunned corridor so stunned so aching, east-facing — and six new facts bringing about my end — and of those, my particular — in my pursuit, unknowing, and present among — moreover — a context willing — so deprived — & so further into the greeting — not just the farmlands — context astounding — and this so varied, contingent —

& this marked by goalposts — so is it this want or coming to a fortnight — a desire for fiction, a citation — indisposed by the opening month, the morning of a year — the quick or stilted movement away from phrase — now you said 10 decades — for this process to kill me — with a spoon to eat with — spent unwilling — days in the common tense — not such nonsense — in the calm time — a cure from my youth — or a new currency — digested wayward in a new sense of brief energy arising threefold — I’ve had no experience — in beyond the forward charge — now I ask you to read this — briefly I am enervated — Pamela — thank you for your poem — the warning — sixteen motions — a summary — sick at six untidy — not just away from me — contextually lacking — quick, wanton, restless — beyond even a method of viewing breath stressless from one end of a marked grave outwards across a new destiny wrought from causality, brooding between two moments of forward motion out endless I am brought, ceaselessly awaiting, desperate and calling, here present to graft anew a bold life swept further across calm plains brushed quiet as forward motion calls sudden an impulse to & away from the battered city, the windswept street, the morbid sailor, my tortured friend — when calling to leave your position —

now who’s Aaron — I’ll give you a hint, left at the bedside, the riverbed — which alters calculations away from the additive towards a method of three items brought together in a synthesis of two days — to the area where the wind emerges — as when I’m thinking of the same thing to bring about a motion — as ever — from the corridor from the exit — from the birch forest — the calm in minerals — fourteen patches — a blister & brush — blistered agreement or arrangement — and the forward motion through time implied by building a statement — unending between another arrangement of luck — wherein I lose my shirt owing to the number “3” — bare minimum built that — wherein I come to a novel — now what’s this area code — when the clock strikes a movement of era — as time is so precious so bleating — which is what’s called “speculation” — my darling, in my youth concerned — in terms of convention — agreement or arrangement — in East Prussia — sorted from the tomb to the highest note of an aria aghast when coming to a new soul, organized by breath & forming against me, against you in a time lost in breathing — now what’s the real writing — is it in or away from the port — by the henhouse occurring — with the Hussar — my soul O release from me — grant me — come away — vertical no longer against me — now time spent slipping —

so you’ve done this to kill me — I’ve never met him — now what fire unending — the probability of form along the line of a new structure or clause hence bringing with it — but I feel off I say — what personal — dramatic in the opening-up of speech — 10,000 years arranged to bring about how sumptuous how evil how cunning it is to thrive or to be true — the room growing cold — mistaken me for another — as in the cold light — 10,000 watts from above — dawning — now what summary now what kindness — afterwards — I’ll have that moment in double time — in two years — on two days — in two hours — in rough time — itemized — in two days beyond me, and even stretched beyond event to the point of a word’s undoing through speech or the act of speech divined at the highest point in the city, undone, and gazing towards you or away from the city limits, out and further to a grand marsh and the events occurring on it irrespective of five cars burned in the last two weeks in my former area — now sunup — now what man now where —

ELIJAH JACKSON is a writer based in Berlin.

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