a note on the crocodile

that you assume is yours, and it might be, as the things I’m thinking are a little yours, tho this instance in particular has a function.

The long body of crocodiles, two which are one by their nature, lolling beside eachother in this state at the Houston zoo. I say ‘body’ like a student body, water en mass, an organization. It is around the soft brown knees, stricken with wet blooms on top of the water, and look, there is some kind of crocodile in there.

The animal that is little else. Animal plural, by mere fact that nothing has happened or will happen to the crocodile. Moving like they are floating a little, tho they are ugly, floating like something reflecting. And this is the trick, it is all work. Because they do not roll over, because their arm and legs stretch out, because it is balance to be still, to tense against the tiny movements of water, to even remain there is about being organized, by principles.

To like them is un-ironic. To be a body of crocs. Be small and true to the necessary movements.

It is a new thing indeed to see something this way. That state of one thing, that is floating on its own, is itself without showing it, that has that love.

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