Ill forget those troves, those files,

having looked up a definition and then having forgot that same definition moments later

in real time, right now,

but no longer with a cat in my lap, cold and agape,

but not longer willing to conflagrate cooperate

now lost amongst the firewood stacked neatly against an empty house,

an inept attempt at total value,

at the behest of royal hands,

volumes , propped up against my arm,

against my hands.

At night; without pockets.

At night; working against me.

It just comes when it wants,

continues when it wants

bleeds when it wants.

What it wants is volumes, in volumes and square cubic feet,

swollen and immature, all the paragraphs grow and swell with every word, in real time,

right now.

Let them blow away and tear apart , so the titles will make more a little more sense now

the circumference , bloated with context,

bloated with contempt.

The perimeter , standing strong,

and I am left running, climbing ,

telling the story,

baby baby baby

trusting me , trying to ,,,,,,,

and telling me about the waves,

Lying to me,

trying to,,,,,,