Part 1: Untitled

It was yesterday or something, when I heard the song playing in a store, asking

do I make myself a blessing to everyone I meet?

I don't sing it to myself, exactly, but I do repeat it, metallic gyre, all the day long.

In the at-home lab of an electrical engineer, I was surrounded by metallic gyres (not an industry term,) tiny spools of wire thread that do not unwind to fulfill their purpose.

I touched things carefully, understanding none of them, vaguely susceptible like a green bruise because

we had woken up in one another's legs. Do I make myself a blessing?

(I really do. I am not perfect, but lovely,

and a perceived dearth of this, of lovely people, is just a cultivated skew, benefiting whom?

It's like, capitalism.)

Anyway, unearthed Soviet tubes filled with brief forests of material mythos

surrounded me, hofbrau, complex blessing. Engineer says: …(the) reactors all disappeared and who knows where they are. Each could kill 100,000 people.

He makes coffee, I sit on the lawn.

Oh, and at 1:47 we watched a rocket ascend. It did not go straight up,

in case you are wondering.

Part 2: Rocket Ascent at Vandenberg

It appeared to experience a horizontal epoch, a teendom.

Maybe meandering is part of all great inclinations. I'm reminded of

"...the falcon cannot hear the falconer," but that's never really true, it's only a game.

The rocket could definitely hear the falconer, and I feel sure that it still does, even at this very moment.

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