6183. NOW LIKE TIME

NOW LIKE TIME

Now like time I expire, the dwindling date

goes down the milk-carton hole. There's no

discerning anything new right now : pincers

and stealers, running from things, that crab

again scurrying along the black-bottomed sea.

-

In the library, the pretty-lady with the catalogue face

hands me another book; next to the video counter

we stand, each looking at words. She says 'We've

only loaned this out a few times over the years,

and we've found anyway that no one understands

a thing inside this volume anyway.' Then she

says it will most probably be deaccessioned in 

January. One week too long for all that.

I sign my name instead.