I look into the white

I look into the white sheet over the earth. It settles limply across my face when I crane my neck off of the sand. Long droops and drapes of dimmer value billow easily within the unending whiteness. It is luminous. When I blink I bring it with me but it is tissue pink. The discolourations remain. I cant tell if I am looking directly into the sun or into a continuous thin cloud with the sun behind it. When I scan the beach everything is faint. All I spend my time doing is checking back on things. I look to see if they have moved or turned. I watch round things carefully. I use the same cup for everything. With jars and bottles I hesitate to touch them ‘else I encounter them later rotated out of their resting position and lock myself in the bathroom to sleep. I scan across the horizon. It is soft and rolling with minute black swells against the white sky. They are so consistent that they arent changing. The same is with the walls and floor. Things happen across them or within the extent of their emptiness, but their edges are exact. There are places I can believe in, views that can recalibrate my senses, the black shadowless wall of my bedroom, the old desert tree outside my kitchen window growing out of the sidewalk with its ancient black bark. The ocean doesnt check the softening of my brain. It is a dark room that I am locked out of. It is dark on the outside and unknowable within. Maybe I will let it come to me and open around me. The spittle brown foam is blowing in chunks across the sand toward me. I feel how its insides disintegrate. I couldnt walk into it. I would have to let it come over me and if I couldnt see within it then I wouldnt need to find a way out or find that I was gone.



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