Streaming Netflix is the opposite of action, a nap
kept low-burning on the margins as if not
existing I don’t exist as if slipped from the yoke of life simple
lazy the hours pass until the active life, its people and tethers
ether-wisp into a faint of memory, a trace. The small art and craft of
talk, how did we manage it? Some things stayed the same, like our nostalgia for
Obama, like insomnia. Faraway places became more and more like this place.
Nights were felt as a stream of departures in the hive.
