Least Ways It Says Nothing

Grass Lake, fifty mile-an-hour wind, Thursday

My second favorite thing about vacation is going home, tomorrow, hate the drive, will love pulling up in front of our house, Napoleon and Momcat running to greet us (we were in the town of Napoleon Michigan yesterday, true fact). I don't sympathize or empathize with rural Red Americans more when in rural Red America though I understand better why rural Red Americans think I live in Not America, not that I had headphones I'd see what I want or wasn't blind I'd hear what I need. My alarm clock here is the homeowner across the street starting his daily burning of his property's undergrowth at seven, smoke gets in the house we're in by 7:15. Rain yesterday, we visited the University of Michigan's botanical garden before driving back road and ending up in Napoleon by happy accident

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	Digital notebook
	finally downloaded
	in this backwater
	I've nothing to say
	People who'd hate me
	and visa versa
	don't hate each other
	until they have to
	They have to. Me them
	too. Who should rule but
	but benevolent
	fully complicit me
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BUT IT SAYS NOTHING

Clark Coolidge

But it says nothing. And one is as quiet

as if to say nothing moves me. Then

there is the chair. And one speaks of

the chair sitting at the table.

Scraping against surfaces, opening the mouth.

The object is a piece of thing before. One

shifts in a chair and opens the talk.

And the time it says nothing one moves.

The table is too long as the wall. Not

a thing but it stays and one opens

as a mouth will begin. Speaking of

the table, nothing but to avoid that of

the wall. One could return over and over

to the chair, the wall one is sitting at.

Least ways it says nothing. And the

thing is, it stays still before

speaking of. The object of nothing, even

speech.