These Cells Are Passages

I.

This field is hoping for a quick soliloquy--make the cameraman tear-up, then stop shooting. It's supposed to rain today anyway. It's not like anyone can tell what streaks their faces or paints the trees.

II.

"Write from the perspective of a piano, a stone, a different inanimate object. Write from the perspective of a Nazi, a timebomb, someone who is alienated, who needs some cookies or perhaps some cloudy weather."

III.

I like it when words form shapes in mid-air, each letter having personhood, personality. I can't picture numbers; I picture the word for that number instead, and yet they call that a learning disability.

IV.

"Pick a box, any box. Now choose an item in that box. Describe what it looks like, how it feels, its carbon atoms. Make it quick, for the ground is impatient. It thinks you're trying to own it again. Anyway, document what happens between molecules in matter and how the question, 'What's the matter?' can't be translated in French. Try to sympathize with the water. Try to sympathize with abandoned trains, weeds growing around immobile wheels, rust composing their path."