Nada Gordon

HOME IS SMALL AND WARM AND QUIET. BUT NO MATTER.

MUSCLES TIGHTEN AROUND BONES. IT DOESN’T SIGNIFY. IT’S COLD AND QUIET. I WANT TO GO HOME

I’M SLIPPING UNDER THE DESK LIKE A PIECE OF GRAY JELLY BUT LIKE I SAID IT DOESN’T MATTER. I HATE YOU.

THE PERFORMING MNKEY MADE STARS IN HIS EYES THAT REFLECTED BACK ONTO HER IMAGE OF HERSELF, BUT AS I SAID, IT’S IMMATERIAL: IT DOESN’T MATTER.

THAT MAKES THE ABSENCE PERMANENT BUT AS I SAID, IT DOESN’T MATTER.

IT JUST DOESN’T MATTER. THERE IS A DOOR, AND HE OR HE OR HE IS GOING OUT OF THAT DOOR INTO AN UNREADABLE SPACE.

IT DOESNT MATTER ALSO BECAUSE WHEN IT COMES DOWN TO IT I’M EXTREMELY PURE. THE LAST LEAVES CLING TO THE GRAY TREES.

IT DOESN’T MATTER MAINLY BECAUSE OF THE SEPARATE SKIN FACTOR. I HUG THE PEOPLE.

I MEAN IT DOESN’T MATTER I’M ON AUTOMATIC NOW BUT HE COULD NOT BE MORE WRONG

OF COURSE IT DOESN’T MATTER BECAUSE WE ARE ALL DISPOSABLE AND MORE OR LESS INTERCHANGEABLE.