Velocity is advancing everywhere. Pubescent girls dump menstrual blood into the street in protest. I want to tell you it’ll be OK, but then I have dreams about losing poems on the subway or a bus. We’re living in a preposterous age. A mob passing by the window chants, “Fuck the clown! Fuck the clown!” They don’t understand the difference between art and crime. An unreliable friend phones in the midst of all this. “What’s another word for ‘nonexistent’?” he asks, as if trying to trip me up. I just sleep whenever I feel sleepy.