There’s No Such Thing As Blue Water

I’ve been thinking that montage is a mental technique

for accepting unity as a convulsive illusion. I feel sick.

I hate it when my stories have holes, though I suspect

there’s where the truth leaks out. So go back to bed.

Maybe it’s laziness, maybe the delivery system is flawed.

If life is a movie, then I’ve spent years sneaking out

for smoke breaks between takes. I do violence to myself.

I imagine the ones I love dead in their...