I raise you from the bathtub
like a doula
crying and kissing
and wet
…

At last I am tired give me a kitsch knife and a foil star
a blue ribbon from the translation factory
in the theater where I faked a sleep
in the theater I mobilized my counterfeits
I was luxuriating in the loop
…

I am telling my babysitter dirty jokes.

I eagerly tell her. On a daily basis. On the edge of my seat. With the same stupid little grin on my face.
…

You arrive late and flummoxed, having just met the prepubescent reincarnation of your decade-dead husband. The camera fixes on your face for several minutes. How did you prepare for this? Did the close-up daunt you?
…

Alone, in the perpetual day of the cold blue sun that never moved—but why should it move? Why even think so? Lying on his back, Blenk blinked as he looked upward, studying the sun’s dim uniform disc. What was the sun?
…