When Heraclitus said all that
about rivers, he just showed that
he didn’t know rivers. I sit
by the same bridge and weir fall

downstream from the flat glass aspect
and watch bubbles pour in the kinds,
genres, types and variations
that this same river holds within.

But of course Heraclitus made
a deeper point, that nothing is,
in the sense that words falsify,
and concepts are just one type of

object we wave around like a
loaded gun, violently and
it makes us feel somewhat safer,
the way that leaping off the edge

is better than falling when you
know you have to go either way.
I bought a wrap today, the same
wrap I buy as the sun decays,

and yet it is always different.
The same and the other exist
in an old war – sometimes bombs are
dropped and everything always changes

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