When I next visit you, I am sure you will be a coma patient in the hospital & the nurse will be beautiful, will ask me if I know the whereabouts of your family, your home; & I will lie, so that you will be kept there with her, as you would have wanted it anyhow. She will be your lady in white. When you wake, you will have amnesia, or feign it & she will take you home to her house out in the country & you will be happy, as it so happens in books.
"I admire you, beloved, for the trap you've set": laying down all of that FALSE EVIDENCE: the rose was fake until I touched it; I warned you-do not say love, I will think love; & I went on, following the wrong leads-the [illegible], the many possible paths, the passages you would only later delete. When it comes to pass, like this, this late, all, all transpires without asking my permission nor requesting my fingerprints. & I do not know what forgets, but its letters are handed badly & I go on, existing among its belongings. It is always easy to spy the EMERGENCY EXIT, & this makes me want to save lives like a superhero. In all of the afternoons of this life, I must spit in keyholes like Frank O'Hara, & what's more: I steal other people's mail that today has not come for anybody anyhow.& to think how the leaves used to address me: how I so believed I alone was meant to discern the signs and omens, the secret addressee of all of that.
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