(Photo by Alosh Bennett) Hot early afternoon in July, dog owners walk about in a prehistoric way. Surfaces are extra membranous, the objects themselves less real, somehow, slipping form, as if someone had full intention of erasing the day and only half finished, leaving dull tenses, filmy artifacts of a hard diagrammable world. I walk to the grocery store with some bags—from the grocery store. I walk from the grocery store. Into a pocket. Can’t say what time it is, the force of the heat takes apart the day and reassembles it as unsure density, which somehow above all is extremely vivid, a glowing beneath clouds. I think of a hand beneath a tortilla, little red whorls where the human part lurks. The corners shimmer in timelessness. I see little points of light where windows might be, like unset teeth, swimming in gum. I am on the train and the bags are gone, and from the window I can see a section of train reflected as a weird oblong cube of light on the wall of the station. The little cube is carried intact for three whole stations before it ungathers fitfully, invisibly, into atoms of itself, and I can’t even know this, can’t even keep a fact together inside of me.

(Photo by Alosh Bennett)

Hot early afternoon in July, dog owners walk about in a prehistoric way. Surfaces are extra membranous, the objects themselves less real, somehow, slipping form, as if someone had full intention of erasing the day and only half finished, leaving dull tenses, filmy artifacts of a hard diagrammable world. I walk to the grocery store with some bags—from the grocery store. I walk from the grocery store. Into a pocket. Can’t say what time it is, the force of the heat takes apart the day and reassembles it as unsure density, which somehow above all is extremely vivid, a glowing beneath clouds. I think of a hand beneath a tortilla, little red whorls where the human part lurks. The corners shimmer in timelessness. I see little points of light where windows might be, like unset teeth, swimming in gum. I am on the train and the bags are gone, and from the window I can see a section of train reflected as a weird oblong cube of light on the wall of the station. The little cube is carried intact for three whole stations before it ungathers fitfully, invisibly, into atoms of itself, and I can’t even know this, can’t even keep a fact together inside of me.