one thich, to thich

i must be, at the very least, successful. at the very least, an empty glass of milk, the leftover wade in a river, a small untied knot, a brother left right at home, a grimace ungrimmed.


must be

left behind for others to talk about and find, the hummingbird the about, and find the note that says “I was always this serious,” about and find his posture cracked by the wind, about and find the the glass spread in a perfect arc, the body that left itself in the snow, no snow-angel or struggle at all.


must be a mysterious gift, an unopened fox, a doorbell ditch, an unseen grass blade’s meow in the night light, the woman who starved to death in front of a feast with a note addressed “dear children …”


must be a sacrifice, so beautiful the giver is among the missers. the tasted never gets a taste, that is taste-chaste, as he said “give these people freedom or I will hand myself to the ocean and let the ocean determine my fate.” 


must be risky, one shot, shoot straight, read by a man who hadn’t cared about beauty until now.


must be everything needs to fall into place, even yourself; you won’t have much control after a certain point of no return. 


must be a suicide and not a murder:

s - “don’t fuck with me.”

m - “I can’t.”

s - “don’t even try to then.”

m - “look. it’s not rape if we are both sterile.”


must be discovered immediately or eventually, since the more time passes, the more we feel the weight of the uncovering, the moon to say the least.  


must be a wanting to tell that is never told, a present that never futures, a plum we didn’t eat.


must be intentional, like the man who initiated his career as an accountant with a note that said “this is my suicide” and then, slowly, he let the numbers kill him over the period of just short of a lifetime. 


must be consistent such as one puzzle with three missing pieces and a memory of the box, not three puzzles mixed together with no memory.


must hint at hope. like a tiny ember that only breathes in your periphery, like a glint of a passing car, like the annulled marriage, like blindly feeling the face of an abstract idea.


must jump from the bridge for the both of them, will jump at his own and others request, will make it beautiful for himself and others, will leave the tragedy as a monument, will hope for a monument as small a one bolt from that bridge with his name on its head, will hope, as he falls, they won’t find his head in the river.