I worry that our project of coterminous descent into ever greater silence and heat has stalled. Say it isn’t so    
    

           The 17,000 gallons of ether drunk by the Irish in 1890.

and then the feeling that this is all just licking the rim of a glass you want more than anything to drink from.
          programmatically. but that speaks to fear, which is remediable
 
 
the woman chasing the puck of fat, which had slipped out of the pho and onto the table beside her bowl       
 
 
the model of the battle of Esztergom, created in sugar by confectioners to the Viennese court, which Empress Maria Theresia devoured during one of her melancholies
 
architecture’s actual material is structural strain or crystallized movement
 

           drill holes in a blank book

well on her way to a lifelong psychic crouch
restrained by the keloids that contort every flameout
 
 
the woman in bojangles that looked like a fifty year old margot tenenbaum, who waited for her food with her feet in the fourth position, whose face was in thrall to an insuperable sadness
           and other stories
 

 
one of those things like imagining chewing when you aren’t or thinking about friendships when they’re not
   
Ether was taken with coffee or raspberry juice. Or by inhalation. Or by being poured into the ear.

           but then the life you want is never the point and all problems are metaphysical

or that their judgment of you will be the same as your own. and so, inescapable

            —even if false

                      who although or even because

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