Origin Story Ad Nauseam

A thing stolen say a spoon say gone before morning shook or worse unable to reorient a slip of the wrist and you’re married the spoon is small is decorative the length one walks back to oneself a shadow’s length or less a belief in one or other end reflects the particulars of one or other neurosis my caldera my Zika my bug-out in a camo pick-up still as damn now nothing happened say the spoon means jack the marriage too say a container is a ritual the spoon which is your bath your mirror is saving your life or more with earned misfortune still a house is not yours a body a personality the collection of traits the fear of heights of Zika the boy with his screen the game with its gun the bath with its salt the outer layer stripped and like an iris shrinking in the light of yet another the trick is not to mind the slanted rain the lack of sleep his screen the light of screens their shelter the shelter is not yours the marriage with its many utensils is silver in the same way love is sheer is tugging at your sleeve there was a plan a bunker the love-thing barely walking to a garden to a den of rifles with a knack for game a river say twice the width of home and gold and rising say it floods the rooms which are not yours the love-thing say the ritual of bathing does you good the thing beyond the body which is you is peeled back and massive barely anything at all the bucket you were dropped in the river the swallowing of itself in infinite configuration infinitely frayed the boy is you the man the screen with its various positions its many worshippers which are you say nothing really happened not the end the spoon the house with its ammo was a game the game of angels which are you