notebook scraps:

skyscrapers sway like trees in the wind. to attempt immobility, rather than simply stillness, moves from an attempt at presence to a physical challenge to be bested.

all the major trees of my childhood have lost much of themselves, or are gone altogether. 

all my words are stolen. the language of a scavenger feels good in my mouth.

all these shapes force themselves through my body, glowing scripts in some reaching–

I send long thick lines from my teeth through the air to you, all my languages the tongues of want, a bringing in of–

my body and my words are inextricable. the oceans of language that pour out of me into a dozen glowing boxes: they are all made of my blood.

the word, any and each, is never separate from the world.