Haphazard processes, creations idly stopped
just as they’d started forming, sometimes
saddled with accoutrements to whose
unfathomable use you can’t imagine
ever warming: this is the legacy you’re left.
This is what you have to think is you, bereft,
at first, of any notion of what could come next.
It strikes you that the obstacle, in fact, is “next” –
the word, the text, the problem is the word made
text which locks you into thinking anything you see
in it is true. No text knows you.