enough to tied one over

how one figures: when at last longhanded & wrung, stamped, machined the truth

table of our togetherness. a pair of zeros, we two the rings coupled

in one lobe: a handsome (a)symmetry. don't you worry. it's a bad town for anyone

to have to have endured whatsoever. regard less, listen: at that time

overriding, sound the blood on its long journey makes rings out--rush of

quiet, difficult& hot--your tuning fork. it is similar to the song

that the entangled make in distance, in the palpability of space. & there's

a cleverness: the twisting dive into substance, the tensely jointed speculation

regarding our planetarium's molecularizing æther--diagrams we in laughter

wire up. the staying there; in time, the secret language of our prepositions.