untitled response poem

tonight, watch the sky at dusk in the haze of sunset the infinitesimal horizon line shading darker than blue inside your own head, hear the click of your teeth, grinding enamel away into fine dust calcium based, crushed up with the ice that you shouldn't chew pardon my french pardon my english pardon nihongo, sumimasen but this is all I know -- small bits, chunks really, just discrete elements of time on a stopwatch on/off, on/off and how none of them together make sense without necessary principles that are inevitably false, that inevitably fail but -- oh the house that appears for a while alone on the shore virus alert! virus alert! your computer has been transformed and it pounds, cracks, shakes at your head fills the world with an ache dismal and obscure, sharp and perverse from moment to moment it's a time for meditation about small, independent parasites doing a job without conscious awareness far better than I could I drift on the paths of their molecular lives as they search for their purpose for the keys to their death glorious no doubt, painless perhaps not meteorologists should consult my knees, my back which are far more accurate than their fine instruments and models with numbers no mind could endure what is thought, after all, but foam on the tide, washed up and useless except as a sign, an omen, a token of things unseen, living brief lives fighting their wars, building their homes and their places of work vanishing without any mourners or tombs or monuments in the desert town, on a deserted street the ghosts meet curiously tense, curiously brief with their ghost dust and ghost wind and ghost muck that sticks to the treads of their tanks or the wheels of their trucks while inside those structures, that is where life breeds and escapes, kills, dies, re-makes and refashions itself now red, now pink, now brown, green, slithering white or clear, thin, diffuse in the absence of light