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<h1 class="title">Look</h1>
<h1 class="subtitle">a found typewriter poem</h1>
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<p><a href="http://books.google.com/books?id=ALdlAAAAMAAJ&focus=searchwithinvolume&q=older+than">Is he older</a>? I asked her. And I never got an answer, because at the moment she disappeared in a puff of smoke. I like to think nothing ever happened to her save that she went over to the spirit realm. I usually know better though.</p>
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<p><span class="line">Look, I say—look here—</span><span class="line">at this old place</span><span class="line"><a href="planks.html">where nothing changes</a>.</span><span class="line">Look at the people</span><span class="line">who pass by. Look at</span><span class="line">the trees. The flowers</span><span class="line">full of wanting: look</span><span class="line"><a href="squirrel.html">how full they are</a> with</span><span class="line">color. Look how they mock</span><span class="line">us, empty people who</span><span class="line">must fill themselves</span><span class="line">with changes—emptiness.</span></p>
<p><span class="line">“<a href="elegeyforanalternateself.html">There is nothing</a> to be</span><span class="line">but happy. <a href="no-nothing.html">There is no</a></span><span class="line">sadness to fall down</span><span class="line">like cherry petals.“</span></p>
<p><span class="line">The [trees don’t under-</span><span class="line">stand:]<a href="plant.html">trees</a> they are too</span><span class="line">tall to see the germ</span><span class="line">of discontent in us.</span></p>
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