We are always turning the pages
to the same page
Not the same page over and over again
but some random, successive page
I’m going to use that phrase
It’s a poem, your poem
possession is nine-tenths of the connection
positively charged electrodes and copper wires
making your dream house elevator
function properly
those tight line drawings distort perspective
the cabin becomes a mansion
the yurt becomes a pyramid
all that time invested in the exact placement
of rooms and doors
we are always opening the doors
to the same room
not the same room over and over again
but some random, successive room