Snap over the red hatch, covers
a dimple for draught, over
deep nothingness given, volumes
specific as a live space-time, added
machine sprayed shining, shapes
jumping with bar codes, like
a cylinder with circles, never
again full like the start, packing
six ends of days, smoother
7th
paint rolled over, shaped
imprint of enterprise, with
pixels of instants, nothing
like little cat feet.
