the blue rule of sky falls upon realization that the purpose of time is to prevent everything from happening at once, there is a loneliness that opens up between two people sitting in a bar on your birthday because nothing is left but desire for that perfect economy of action gorge after gorge, turning, turning, caverns of sunset, falling, falling away just a single vast of golden air a cleft and gigantically pocked ocean folded into the dens of two hands cusped together and we circle, circle, circle again with a gold slipper sun's paws shining, clustered on the water here where the sagebrush begins and the flat miles of sky end for me to come on this trek to videotape a desire and obtain cheap prompt correct facts about an object to which nothing in your world of gestural exhibition corresponds driving is penance for me but for you penance is something broken off and thrown back like a sweetness that pierces your thoughts penance for me is self destruction to flatten the memory of...
