Geneva as a system: of stoppages, exquisite needlework, of the catalogue of the Prinzhorn Collection. A venerable casuistry. Yet dwells there. May line its nest with stray objects / some shiny, some soft. In the nature of lay.

East of Mishawaka the country opens into itself like snowfall. Thumb-check & broomstraw, baby’s breath, lily of the valley. Prayer comes to seem like just another bleak exercise in consensual harbor abuse.

FORTRAN as a provisional malady, neoclassical representations of the ideal city. In exile the clouds seem larger, more outlandish.

There is another story, the story of Science and of the fierce breath of Science. The pocket drone, the soul cured of its grey animal.

Aside from mitosis no one’s getting any younger here. Cab Seven to Base: “Should I pick up the blood then?” Base: “Yes.” Cab Seven: “So call ahead. You know I hate to wait.” Base: “You know you always have to wait.”