The things that could almost happen are far more compelling than either the things that can’t or even the things that will. You leave at dawn. A crow is picking at something on the road. The wind blows away the clouds. There is a tiny man made of coal who has eaten all of my anger and grinds my teeth for me. I wonder whether you have fallen out of love with me within the last hour. The long debated silver implement achieves escape velocity and introduces a new form of lichen. Your obese Uncle. If I gave him a few sticks of lip balm would he agree to step on my head? Let’s make tea with nails and rain water. Let’s make up names for the Gods based on the common structural elements of Arthropods. Quietly I have grown old filling my left pocket while I’ve emptied my right. Don’t you always feel like you’re getting ready to live? That you just need a few more minutes? I feel the thinness of your lips. The new seed cones soft and green. She likes her cat a little too much. The white milky spit of the antiquarian hobos. You can understand how it works without understanding how to make it work. A little dark star in your heart is amassing gravities and coupons that have already expired. Date seeds glistening in the saucer. A computer dials my number. Her shirt says The World is My Ashtray.