Lately I’m not feeling like myself. 

I'm haunted by the sensation I'm forgetting something.

Some days I am covered in it; I must go outside, pick a direction, start moving.

I love a fatal flaw, but what of that? 

I spend whole weeks moving!  

Just dive into a landscape—the worse the weather the better. 

Blustery. I've seen landscapes so vertical  

two seasons seem to meet in the middle  

and French kiss. I play the typical song over and over.

Acceptable landscapes: meadows, shopping centers, public gardens, 

aquariums, atriums, museums, neighborhoods  

full of one type of house, parlors— 

Is this cinematic yet?  

I surrender so much the words break down like links in a watch. 

But not limited to. 

I gather a container of ephemera: Graffiti, painted over in beige. 

Misspelled theater marquees. 

If I can't say what I'm waiting for, then am I? 

Anyway, what’s it built from?