This is another one about the shape of Ignatz's eyebrows.
Except, I seem to have lost the second page.
Oh, here it is.
About that V.
On Ignatz's Eyebrow.
The way water is always rushing between a ferry and its dock,
in the ever-present gap or the rush is the speed of the water.
And the rush is the sound of the water.
And the water is bitterly cold and is
fouled in its bitterness.
In the gap is irreducible time and space
and is the turbulent ache felt by the ferry and the cold
of its iron bones, which will never
clang against the Iron framework of the dock
in the satisfaction of solid surfaces,
because the gap is where such clangs helplessly dissolve,
the way Ignatz now feels his anger dissipating
in that self-same gap between a trigger and a smack,
between his anger and the object of his anger.
Just as his eyebrow can never meet his opposite eyebrow
in the true unbroken v of anger, no matter
how doomy, how darksome his invariable frown,
since there is always that gap allowing
liquid consciousness, or conscience,
or contemplation to rush in.