i’m curtaining off the afternoon joggers, a species so

heart-rending & cup-of-teaish, like your old stuffed rabbit.

sat smack in the hillside office brings nought to light

though, if one were two, by chance, you inhabit the

actual site of an art-work / book / film, a house, an office,

a famous toilet & then come to know its curves like your own

stomach, you form some perverse attachment \\ thereby

ruining the initial coolness of love. having started to read

craig schuftan’s nietzschean pop analyses i’m getting drawn in –

a pithy definition of ‘cool’ glows succinct & valid

(paraphrased as playing with the signs &

surfaces intently, but not developing any deep attachment

to content, so, detached) – & think it would have been useful

a while back. we all had special talents to offer in the past.

there was the way you could twist & spin a racquet,

arcing past moths & the casual flummox of teenage

girls, sneering, comma-ing their speech with images of

uncaring tch. unable to rise

because i haven’t been drinking.

clear-headed abortive laziness.

short lined cocoa packets invest in cupboards.

the plural of rigour.

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