you sent away for lies open on my desk
in my temporary digs on Ibn
Sina – Eh bien, Labor and Logos are brothers raising
themselves up toward the extra-
ordinary, begins the cosmic
tableau. When I rise to stretch my legs a crinkling patch
of blue blinks through the slats, mocking
my efforts; a stock dove flashes
its emeralds on the line
slung across the street: a pretty sight, though the times
aren’t. Ioannes: Far from our eyes
sleep banished, teeth bite and blows smite
joys, as at sea the heart’s tempest
upends our somber nature… I grapple

with the Greek. An outage
drives me out and up Sha’arey Nikanor, upper
floor lattice screens cooling the grand
...