report 000020: east of greenleaf

when in the waiting one snaps awake &--in an unfamiliar town. slow as continental drift, that unlucky fly in resinous light: not even a good excuse. it is as though with slippage & acquisition

one takes the wrong turn-off: no services--a puzzle torn out of the novel you mailed, but my formal notation has gaps. i have lost the key to my system. or, worse: i my own stenographer only, reciting lines back in a hall

of half-mirrors & teletype-clack. if i just wait. if patient in the mapless backcountry of our territory, the light from my fire signaling. reduced to this, ad absurdum--it is a species of belief. hard hallucinatory edge of

the dream-vision in which another letter arrives, & another. identical copies of sterne's marbled page autographed in your hand. in molasses & frozen of the thing immediately facing. how far i would in order to drown this dis-ease. being-still not in my job description, but--. how much. how worth. one will learn.