It will be like going between things

When you ask, hours pass. Hours pass by. For you I did it. When the edges drink. And you tell me why you exist. When I go out there on time, which is not always spare. Go, go for bare existence. Here to go is that thread of existence. He doesn't even remember the next step. It will be like going between things. Cascading suffering. Of the thunder happening. Clear call. Something he always talks about. It does not leave sincere rest. Not even this fake copy. Which should not even be talked about. In the unsaid, hours pass. As if they were pupils of space. Little squares spreading out. They make space where there was nothing.

Autobiographies. Write en miroir. Palimpseste sur painting. Mirror Sub-Irrealism. Random intratextuality.