picking up strays—building a table and chairs on the first date
a basement apartment she disparaged—it’s nice—after Queen’s 
Gambit she pulls my head towards hers, so hard I’m reminded—
sorry for this—of her German grandfather sent (for good reason?)
to the Gulag—(who am I betraying?)—and in the river house—my 
dreams—what am I sensitive to—asking for forgiveness—what
more do you want from me? Kent’s kind of a loser—easier before 
waking to write letters, delete them, to listen to the whispers
something unformed, heedless, violent—an axe striking the tree
clearing the way—he measures every coffee grain, calculates
calories per gram, wets the paper first to remove its woodiness 
(nothing I have ever tasted)—I never want to be so careful—the 
difference between a relationship and something that’s ended
what you take for granted—imagine you already building towards
release—preparing to derail—on track—I don’t want what I see
here—every ended relationship better than this one—so what
is anything lasting—fixed entropy—another dream, an ex with 
a house—sells it for a tiny apartment—invites me to live with her
she’s going to do house shows—poetry, music—I can’t see it—
know it will be packed—hard to explain—living here would be
bad for me—from the roof, cord from the antenna dangling—
empty antenna stalk—who removed it—an axe striking the tree
if I meant so much to you—coughing now—why was it so easy

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