There is only one space and it contains everything in the world

Byron Kanoti

Piece by piece, the local amusement park forfeits its thrills to flatbeds—

I forget traffic [one amputated leg—all studded with sockets—of a terrific arachnid

slides away to new suitors] like a prize. I forget how appalling

oceans are to the shipwrecked [some immaculate and hysterical knowledge]

like bizarre water flailing over the limit of a two-dimensional world.

I forget who invented salt [rendered in rivers swimming with swords]

as if they could outlive its invention. I forget why glaciers. I forget passengers’

impatience [no one knows it—immobilized by strangers—but the strangers]

like one day disowning its empathy for the next. I forget whether or not

raptors have a decent theory of altitudes [our eyes donating their allotted

tricks and jokes for sadness’ sake] like a funeral where you wished

into a well full of souls. I forget how to achieve sleep [a weak history

of extinction ensuring us it is not over] like some dumb song. I forget insisting

on science [nightfeeders fingering their deepest creases] like a god is listening.

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