Intro.. ...Back Draw... ..Along Poems.. ...More My presence is like magma in him. While I straightened my arm at the elbow: I remembered his face nine times. This close to absolute zero: movements are painted. One day we will freeze here together with the light. What does it mean: don't go there today? Or I'll become part of some other self-pompous moment: when crater bodies return from space. I would like that better. To rain. Every time he enters: he wants to look away: and then his eyes fog up: but otherwise with each breat he somehow becomes transparent. Through the thermal vision: dark red areas spread around his chest and his fingers are almost turquoise. What does it mean: today? When? The furrowed dry pattern on his human lips somehow keeps pulling my mouth towards itself. Where?