ㅁ Bands of purple line the sky up here beside our flight; below, Japan. We'll leave the sun behind us, and now insert ourselves, stealthy, like angels, into the east and darkness and then dawn. Well, somewhere just south of Kamchatka, I opted to boldly declare a new, liminal approach: an opposition to exaggerations of sentience, and instead, exist. So. Later, over the Aleutian chain, there arose feelings of regret. Baroque significations unfurled their abstractions. Inaccessible, meanings were lost; nothing left, I sought sleep.
– a poem made of 3 nonnets enchained.
