the fall of all things along threads of rain into words
races of light rays in fall back to origins— hard battles
that are not quite real
between the Main Clause
and whole continents of Subordinates
don’t turn with thirst and innocence
toward the object you wish to know—
rather trust your luck to a miscopied random number
and pretend it’s all a game
— above all, laugh
when one world sinks down in struggle and another is born

when you never know whether all this
could have been mounted on pulleys

what’s real blood and what is paint
(2 + n pieces subject to permutation)
when you don’t know exactly how it is that things are not
after their kind
and out of nothing things happen to be born