Notes toward China
Order the pig and then forget it. For the chance to walk above reflected water plays its wavelengths on the bottom of the bridge. Women glare at your tanktop. In the alleys, cats and vegetables. There are kitties here! I missed them so. The goldfish are dancers and she shirts are 90 cents. China accordions by with its cliffs and caverns working like mouths, and Michael says the star of the sun is halfway through its life. Women sing their off key fruit cart song in the train corridor.
One is not to try on shirts, even over another shirt, but one may try on sweaters. One is not to transcend pictures. What color is USA money? asks the 19 yr old in the shoe shop who says your whole face is beautiful not just your eyes. Will the machine give your card back, is the question. Does it have eyes. The earth’s ice caps will melt as the sun gets bigger and eventually subsumes/consumes mercury and venus—this is when we will become a water planet and presumably grow flippers. Two kuai for the hairpins and keychains. Dust particles pirhouette in the train compartment. Beautiful sea animals. And then the sun will become a white dwarf, collapse inward. Our solar system will disappear. I think I am a medium here. And since we only have a grasp of three dimensions, they are perhaps already here and we would not know how to know it. And in the evening the high stink of raw meat hanging gives way to large block of fish smell and the streets are wet. Your small is smaller, and in north of here, I remember, this is described with use of the ablative case: I from you big. The sheer shirt you dig for in the bin is one kuai but you get a separate receipt for it, light as a leaf or fin.