Marksman

Amid the bodies of the trees, or next to the sea, I stand perfectly still, a circle around myself. I am my own address. At home, I turn off the lights, think more clearly about invisibility. Whenever I pull back the curtain from the window, I hear the microwaves listening to me. They’re godless, like animals, but so are the gods. At room temperature, I talk to myself, anonymously. I’m the person I was when I was born, what I say isn’t a surprise. Sometimes, I wonder if the future is still interested in me, and I forget what...

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