If we hadn’t invented god
he would have to exist.
Only boredom makes hay
of the scarecrow.
Rattling, the tractor shies into the barn.

Moreover, the moon
erases the highway, tilts
at the nuclear plant
and all reluctance,
genuflecting, derivative
slips quietly into the creek
and out to sea.

Before it goes though
it comments on its derivation,
inexplicable at first:
points to friction; the fact
that friction always comes from elsewhere,
or at least always with elsewhere,
where friction is relation,
where friction is another thing,
where it can’t be made alone,
where it derives,
where friction finds itself,
where being is
is friction.

Then alone.

Stalks of wheat
drowse horizons
as vapors grieve.

Wayward, how?
the founding remission:
tricks of conscience, memory, avowal.
I worry about not being here
somehow.

I can not be.

Relinquishing slowly always
is the same as
relinquishing always slowly
is the same as
always relinquishing slowly
is the same as
slowly relinquishing always
is the same as slowly, always relinquishing.

We’re fronted.
Chance collects
slowly via friction
or
all at once.

Can’t think about dinner
at breakfast.