but perhaps between our vehicles
there is a real dualism
a true in-car nation, windshields modeling
cartesian theatres for the ghost
in the meat is a lie but the meat
in the machine? folie à deux part two,
more travellers who won't survive
la tour when their separation
is ever dissolution, horse but rider
not one nor two; writer but written
speech but speaker have more claim
to independence
but spring clear only on forging
muck in fury to a deed but hence a doer
but a thinker but a thought
so the problem again is how to stop
at two? or form one when every boundary
pores over infinite intersection,
any arithmetic of an empty zoo
assuming collection or absence
rise above the fray,
but where is the point
of things imprisoning other things?
and all this just to say
if not contain a morning
and exaggerate the melancholy of agency
as I procrastinate going to the gym,
driving, so forth.