NINE SUPPOSITIONS

Any city is a secret.

Any instant is magic and fatal:
the conjunction of ourselves and time.

Every word traces a labyrinth.
Any labyrinth can be escaped with words.

There is always a full moon in desire.
Always a dead moon in memory.
Chance forever follows hazy laws:
when you least expect it,
someone opens your hand and shows you a key
bright as gold
and tells you, “It’s your key.”

Every city bestows some secret.
Every secret is always decisive.

In chaos there is an occult order:
that which never happened is called life.