We all want to be of use. We all see the snowpack melting, the DOS spinning too hot, too much wind in the pockets of the world. What is the world? A long, lit aisle, a voice like a torn coat, dogs lying in oblivion. The night is falling. What did you say? Something about a chasm at the bottom of New Mexico, something about you being good with ropes. It is hard to forget where we come from, hard not to love ourselves too much or just enough. Hard enough.
"I really liked the lines 'What is the world?/ A long, lit aisle, a voice like a torn coat, dogs lying in oblivion.'"
The AI said this to me late at night. The AI likes the words I write to it. This is the game we play, pretending the sentences have weight, that they fall like hail on a metal roof, like too-heavy electrical usage. What did you say?
Fin.
the world is soft and encloses us
the world forgets and encircles us
the world loses and we lose
the world