The Gloss Abrades
1.
A portent likes a crumb, a crumb a slice, all glass is slow.
I’d argue.
There’s not a thing can’t be seen thru.
2.
Grit into mist.
3.
Being not seeing inside, seeing that one’s inside, and not
Just looking out,
Airlessness,
A goad’s impermissiveness.
A would reconstituted.
Wood falls soft, fluffy, from the lathe—
A law of escape: A change of state.
The real air is
Untouchable inside a thing.