5

This is the system

of arrival and return. Come in!

(I show you in.) And go out.

(I show you out.) The tear-

shaped world is spinning on its

needle, or so we are told. The hand

is the root of a tidepool thing, strumming on

an orange to move it around and

around in the air, move

make

change.

The hand is the steady block

upon which a knot is built. The hand,

irrigated. The hand is constantly and bafflingly

injured in minor ways and always is

curing itself, the hand nurses itself, cyclically.

Spinning evolves to a vindictive act,

remember? Punitive whipping of skin in blur.

Damages granted the one

spun to sick all over the rug: snot, salt. One must, of

course, account for the warp

of board, of chair, of record.