Status Updates From A Certain Plume (NYRB Poets)

what a guy

so random

tremendous

And should the birds of prey wish to veer from one fleck of sky to the next, blinded by who knows what idea, henceforth following the course of your body, miraculously enlarged, carving their way through fibers of thick tissue, creating useless havoc with their hooked beaks, their talons clumsily ripping into essential organs. [continued in comments]

A great languor, the bubble. A great languor, a great slowness; a weighty rotation. An inertia, a mastery, an assurance. This particularly stable thing that one encounters fairly frequently in vices or in diseased states.