Mist drifts off of the creek. A few bubbles that breach the surface catch the streetlight. New organizational priorities. Limited space. The euphemism of structure. Dig your own hole now. The smooth untrammeled spaces with a fence around them. Fissures forming where things get interesting. Suddenly the demand for punctuation. Symbols that indicate even our pleasant moments will be taken from us. They’re usually the ones who volunteer to go first. The gesture replete with silver fish bones. We’ll pull them out of our bodies through our skin and say “See, they were always there.” “Assassination” has the word
Girls on bicycles. Mountain climbers. People who travel a great distance in a boat or a plane. The guy who testified against his former employer. Boys who run away from home. Depressed entertainers. Civil rights activists. College girls who go abroad. College girls walking home from the library. D. B. Cooper. The industrialist who leaves the restaurant at 7:13pm. Walks off into the forest. Soldiers. Sea divers. Journalists who talk too much. Infants left alone. People who park their cars near bridges. The guy who took a lot of money from his former employer. Russian cosmonauts. Civil rights activists. The guy who murdered his former employer.