Today you find yourself guilty as the rim you split an egg against. You press charges. You spell out your name like the letters are medals for good conduct in a bad war. The night moves in with you into your room until even your sleep is not your own. Through the window the grass tells you to give up and you are trying but on the other hand things keep you: the moon, the cars, cars. You undress yourself more deeply down like this is the way to get to the future. You let the darkness medically examine you. So much can't be put back together. To burn the house down to burn the house up It's all the same problem in any direction. You're matter. You turn on the light.