An Unidentified Enclosure Containing Two Occupants

08/11/14

He stuffed his hand inside the hole as if it were a limp rag. When he pulled it out, it
struggled, a small wound dripping from its backside. Suddenly it grasped the other hand,
dragged it to the next hole and shoved it in. It came back out quickly.
Unhurt.
Blinking.

I saw him do it, so he holds out his hands and he does this and that and the other
thing, and I decide I meant to say “Yes” when I really said “No,” or maybe “unnh,”
which can be interpreted as “No,” but can also be ignored.
At least I’m occupying a certain amount of space with him now, which suggests we
have a relationship, which we do not, unless you consider what he did with his hands to
be a relationship.

I had to consider whether or not the argument had been arranged for movement
from side to side and could win only against itself.

There are repairs involved and they could lead to complications.

I also had to consider whether or not I might have been unavailable to the
experiences that desired me.

There was a falling upon that appeared to have an intention attached. The
intention’s particulars, however, were not apparent and the falling upon fell off.

The knees are simply wrong and must be disguised by holding the legs straight
until the entire length points evenly to the ankles, which are also undesirable, but perhaps
more inevitable.

As a man of his own tendencies, he tends to tend more.

If he touches my breast, I will respect him.

He put something into an envelope thinking that he might save it. He gave it to
himself and he put it in a safe place, inside an envelope.

Then he put something on his hands to make them more comfortable holding each
other. It was easier than remembering to be generous all the time. The implications were
not what he was expecting. He had been wondering if he needed himself and he had been
wondering who he was.

If there was a miracle available, we squelched it.

Climbing down the shadow of the ladder inside the enclosure is a reasonable
portion of sunlight, which reveals the advent of the day ahead and substantially alters the shadow, which allows for experiences and takes the place of the initial memories, even when the experiences later appear as if they were themselves memories.



Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.