Truncate and return, the argument that was not made, and take the argument that was not made to return it to its place, of absence, to the bird that died and returned last week, having hit the window, in the face, or beak, stunned at first then dead, or just dead outright, having no audience to hear it, or listen to the thud, I drag the thing in and across the pavement, too small to pull along but there is no lifting dead things, eggs already laid between each eyelid, a small corpse between my fingers, truncate and return in peace, of gravel, feathers, and eggs, laid by flies not slow to land, another one does it again, days later, the same flies land eggs between the lids, too small to bury, pulled across the grass, there is no lifting things like that, she finds it sad, I feel nothing, but that nothing feels more strongly than feeling felt before, gravel, feathers, no feelings of any kind, still, but the feeling of no feelings, and reluctance, to lift the thing, and truncate and return the argument that is now dead in me too, like all writing written dies and then I feel nothing, if I felt anything, in suspense, a dead space between the doing, with eggs between the lids that surely must hatch and say something different, only, I cannot see it, but raise the thing I cannot lift, to the wall, without feeling, another dead space, this side and the other, where I drop it out of sight.

---

Ansgar Allen is the author of several books, including two novellas, Wretch (Schism) and The Sick List (Boiler House Press, forthcoming).

Emile Bojesen is a musician and sound artist and the author of Forms of Education, his most recent musical release is Scrape on LINE.

Image courtesy of Ansgar Allen & Emile Bojesen.