997

NOW I’VE SEEN EVERYTHING

The keeper of the books regrets that he does not fly around the world once a year.

Equal area maps, he said, equal area maps.

The deep sea electric fish advertise their blue movies.

Now, he thought, we can get down to business.

Now, she thought, I’ve got you where I want you.

Now, we thought, we’ve seen everything.

You are here.

Your name here.

I was awake when you slept in Buffalo.

Then, when you were proud of the alphabet we invented, I was curled up in a good book.

It was written in Denmark.

It is odd that our sense of humanity would derive from an obvious case of borderline.

I love that moment when you pass the sign on the bridge that says “Now Entering.”

Knock knock, who’s there, the international date line.

We have to eat, but do we have to eat poison?

We eat everything, but do we eat our own species?

This space intentionally left blank.

The impossible book titles – Either/Or, No Name, The Page Turner.

A flash, and suddenly it is evening.

Reflections on language.

Stop staring at yourself and help me hide the evidence.