amalgam— 20(19)
See through these irises, now, watch the wilt of my winter jackets as they flatten against the back of the navy plastic seats, keys make the same sound, they always make the same sound. I might be dreaming, but I can see the metal bees whirring in motion, from place to place,
motion and macroscopic objects,
indiscernibility,
Inconspicuous as I felt like I was. And as conspicuous as I remembered.