Come

come with me into the museum and stare at the painting until it becomes another painting
(I'm thinking of Mondrian's Composition, 1916--the fractures and the bold claims in territory; maneuvers; Berio's Sinfonia, 3rd movement)

be still and listen as I read from the journals of Kierkegaard; his elegant lethary and way of writing error into things (how he labels those with a cursed mendacity)

we'll extract seven new renderings of the dawn of new Helen, whispering findings of emerging minutia in the city back and forth (what little romances).

once again I will tell you I love you and you will turn away, some book framing a familiar exit