Smit mig sagde jeg smit mig
til David Foster Wallace smit mig
øjeblikket består ikke
af lethed men for evigt af sang
such dark songs springing from shame
and high ideals exerbated with the twine
tying your childhood bicycle to the garden rail
there is no need for memory
it is all there
in one body
I wonder will it float
into the heavens of lost or immemorialized ideals
either way
outside of everything
your body is time