I had more of you

With ease—my fingers locked with yours—how we entered the murmurs soon after the nurse of Ockham wrote: take it slough. With knowledge of where do we go from here. This terminism wanting something to do with you, neither you nor it thoroughly acquainted with failure. In worlds such as . . .this is, where escalators carry hands. A metaphor transports you with meat hooks or the assembly line. Let it depend however on the conviction of your grip, “of vengeance / the assertion / of every woman / we know.” Me, I’d go with the syllable “strain,” this difficulty of passing it on lessening by the take. Whose attainments insult, having arrived en masse with the handmaiden of health. Slob in ways only seldom cheerful. Erring always and now on the side of simplicity.