[untitled 4w]

Don't ask me where it's put

in what nook it's ducked in

what crack it's smashed inside

what hole it was wheeled into

how many times folded

I can't answer for something I never did

Or else

was led in the doing

I can't remember the instruction

and so cannot but try at a reversal

undoing

revoking it

this slow tearing

or gradualism

the first wound in my hair that begs

tug and tug some more

until I'm bald as a soprano in my neck

until I've given up the memory of some far off institute

where books joined their gaunt intestines [ashen]

the memory of that island where we danced

or cast our feverish trance trimmings into a crowd

Don't ask me where it's put

if I knew I would reveal to you

I would reveal to you