stupid girl, goes into it at arm’s length, goes into it with a face like people wore when the taking of photographs was set into minutes, not the moments we have now, now with everything in rapid phantasmagoria, now, when there are only stunted pauses between the phantasmagoria to draw breath rapidly into the cavity of the chest, not like when people had to hold their breath for photographs, antique photographs, where they wore the faces they wore, taut, a little blue, scalines like cello strings, because they were theoretically holding their breath. And you know, I only know theory, I only know how to do things theoretically, I theoretically know to extend my arm its full length and hold you there, when I can feel your breath, theoretically, at the face of my open palm, yes, I think that is all I know, rhetorically plucking feathers from the broken bird in the backyard, or on the lawn, making mistakes, theoretically, because I don’t know what I am doing, I don’t know what to do besides pull things out, hold things at arm’s length, hold my breath, hold my mouth shut or open when holding my mouth shut or open is precisely, theoretically, the wrong thing to do.

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