More than once he mistook the inevitable as prognostic magic.
the poet, smiling, -i assure, they were never my words. the interviewer wonders, -but you wrote them? the poet, -i found them. at the tip of my pen.
i wasn’t really there. uh, well.. ya. i wasn’t really there. when you say it it sounds so different than when i say it. i i wasn’t really there. i was always moving away. i was always moving upwards, moving outwards. i was on skates. i was riding a bike. i was on an escalator. […]