A dog on the desk abandoned beneath a sycamore in the snow staring at tiny birds best seen by flashlight.
A deciduous tree with a thin scrolling lever lies next to a piece of ancient office furniture slowly developing a mirrored skin. It is at the edge of a visual-verbal "nature" like three black sausages in a white paper carton. Very passive and very detailed: a candlelit puppet mine with temporary female workers arranging their hair. Very precious and full of serious pleasure.
A railroad train rises in a conversation which survives my departure like an unnamable drug made from dark and moist birds.
from The Somnambule's Crime
© Dale Houstman