8/27/89 my notebook is heavy weight of ink bearing it down my wrists swell with a dark certainty all afternoon a tractor circles the house cutting the pasture its buzz is fearless the driver does not pause I am exhausted the floor is littered with paper I can never come apart and stop the line I pursue on the page twists in front of me it comes out of my wrist I can feel the pull of it against my ribs I can feel my ribs open and close like great wings like grass parted by the blade of the wind