after the great extinction. The others
hung around as ghosts. Some
inexplicable necessity compelled me
to mark the exams of the deceased.
I graded my brother-in-law’s Russian paper, knowing
neither he nor I knew Russian.
I wanted to write
something about all this,
a solipsist novella.
It seemed worthwhile,
the act of working,
writing something about a turn back
to the brief blank between thoughts
like turning a cheek toward the space just emptied.
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