You remember the time you went into his room and locked the door.
No one knew.
You realize that somehow there are people who stringently admire you.
You take a contemplative lukewarm shower.
I have found myself in the great compost pile of stasis
where everything is reaching for a bottom that has quietly declined to exist.
You are there too on some other side.
I cannot reach you.
You wait for memories to decay into diary entries.
I wait.
You wait.
I have touched my tongue to the electrode of poetry
and blacked out.