What looks to be shorthand is all love and exile. How lonely is that I wonder, substituting pomegranate for chair, door, nightfall, the exotic suddenly opening up. Pomegranates on the pc screen I erase with a kind of inertia or sad clarity. This is unsatisfactory. Bring back last week when the keyboard hiccuped gobbledygook until the inevitable screwdriver scenario.
Ambivalence is one thing, fish-hooks something else.
In the same way a friend used a whole fleet of ships when extremely cross, just the one for mild annoyance, a plethora of pomegranates it is. It s an act of trust, this translation. I wish I really understood what it meant, the intimacy all third party. How lonely is that I wonder, substituting a hard imagined fruit for pomegranate, and an old dream for a wave of unspeakable thanks. The arc fades before me.