Asylum,

like when I can’t sleep I say to myself

the the the the

the

the

the—

each article drenched to the bone in the

belief it attends something solid,

fond belief, always being

cut in on—the

the

the

the the the the the the

does the trick if I can stick with it

not get swept into narrative, that shock brigade

all tell, if by shock they mean hit

the the the the the the the the

papers say asylum is temporary

now, true, what’s not that’s able to

maintain its potency, you wake up

from a spell in that genre of safety, relative

safety, what saved you

making as if the story were widely shared

until you saw them as-if otherwise and then

what saved you was seeing their look, saying

resemblance too may be at any time revoked so

must be made the most

of,

seeing it then, seizing

the minute dismounting with the foot

trained as a dancer to keep you traveling because

they’d slept and, refreshed, moved the the the the

papers expired, it’s their turn now

to really live