Blog,
I want to disclose everything I am to you:
I am settling into whatever this is.
I am happy there are bodies of water I can bike to.
Today I will swim from one shore to another,
Like a boat following light or noise.
Blog, I am loosing track of certain things.
I am staying up later at night.
I bought a book that was withdrawn from the Douglas Public Library.
I am amazed how many Douglas Public Libraries there are.
(The book is from Castle Rock, Colorado.)
I got a letter from Grant today. I want to see Grant--and soon.
Whatever this is, I am lonely.
I am waiting to be called.
It is hot in Minnesota:
Nikki said her favorite part of the Midwest is the hot, thick summer.
I feel like a painting becoming sun bleached.
Blog, are you made of water too?
I am nervous you are not.
What if you are not?
You can change forms.
I keep editing, blog.
You must be an experiment in revision.
My body is also experiment in revision.
All along I have carried myself inside me.
I no longer resist that irresistible self.
I have returned to where I coded so deeply even to myself,
and I have fallen back into my old ways.
Sometimes it is safest to recede,
like water become vapor,
or like vapor becoming water,
or like water becoming ice--without the right light you cannot see my contours.
I show them to you, blog.
Blog, you have been published and changed.
Like a name.
Like a body.
Like a body of water.
Blog, I just want to tell you how it feels to inhabit a memory:
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