Patrick Johnson

Once I wrote: “There is a point that one can reach when knowing is / too much.”

Look: the reflection of a light

shining outside the enclosure.

An abdomen is plain anatomy.

The liver of the rat
looks curved like the pistil of an iris.

They call it the deep internet, the dark internet, the undernet, the hidden web, the dark web, he says, and I’m aware that my eyes just blinked.

A solid transferred to a gaseous state

is just
and involves evidence that others don’t have.

Empath: someone who can hack through others’ computers.

From the parking lot we see it, blue;
first just the blue, like the single stroke of a brush
on a piece of china, and then, through the trees,
on a branch, it takes a shape we all know: bird,
the word iridescent between our teeth.

Maybe this is one of them,
maybe this bird is sitting in a nest.