June poem

A slurry of students of time-based art gathered around a rectangular table surrounded by small marks. No one ventured outside; everyone was respectful. Do you want to hang out? "I think I really need to be alone right now." There's a latent there's an unshrouding that is happening. The worst word is is, the second worst is was. I say. Crawling octagonally between a long male gaze out through three large vintage windows—all bitten and tiled my pharmaceutical mind. I have to remember to submit to the Instagram casting call. I have to remember to be a collection. We weren't planning to press upon the sides of our bodies in that way which generates material. As the bellowing, ekphrastic space which our implied duet conceals presses through to understanding—I can never know. Just tiles.