playing ghost: despite being both parts

       entropy, every theoretical advantage will always lose to an ending.

At night I unmake imitation games like

       hollowed-out blood moon, separating each variation into catalyst,

magic girl transformation and nonlinear

       love story. One: in the free will between fallacy and beginning exists

an apocalypse set to play in reverse. Time

       travel solved with every won position: I attempt to emulate every

possible death within the span of five hours &

       end up with a body divided unto loss. Theoretically inconceivable.

& yet. Two: Did you know I am only destined to

       love you in universes where we die? At [+0.42] we collapse under a

tunnel explosion, sky parting into space. In another,

       we hide counterfeits of our bodies in our ghosts, hoping for someone

to notice. We trace our palm lines like foil from

       chocolate coins, double-bodied and soundless. For every failure

we found loopholes to pretend there was counterplay.

       Watched as every story spiraled into syllable, sucked until

sun. Three: in record time i calculate out an elegy +

       replace my tongue with dissonance so we come full circle. (as seen in:

Computers Solve Possibility! How To Piece

       Together Complete Equilibrium Using Nothing But An Opening!) At

this point, the only way to win is to start from

       a beginning, wherever that may be. Rematch every universe until you

catch a chokehold. A litany for littler things,

       ripe until rebirth.