by Noah Eli Gordon

    To say sleep works by accumulation is to disregard the

    weather in my head.

    It makes a genius of the pillow， an apt anthropomorphic

    redundancy.

    When the story stumbles into its fearless costume &

    everyone at the edge of the woods is worried their waiting-

    room bravado won't open to anything but the same door on

    the same house that seemed a little off in the morning，

    every anecdote has an empty object.

    When your own name's written on the gate， negation is just

    something we do.

    What's redundant about the human personal？ The urge to cull

    an animal pronoun from a procession of wedding guests？

    At least reductive absolutes rivet you somewhere closer to

    the actual rainfall， adjudicating ultimatums or handling

    the ounce of mulch it takes to cover any experience worth

    calling tactile.

    There's nothing sharp about a knife in a movie.

    doesn't it make you fearless & brave to say