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Is it my fault that I still feel empathy while watching

Bas Jan Ader’s “I’m Too Sad To Tell You”?

I could cry about my grandfather dying genuinely

then present it to you as a fiction

He died at sea in search of art, for art, was art

and couldn’t help it

And he died from cancer because he talked to me

months earlier, still able to walk and use a remote

for the TV, something Ader could not have done

He didn’t cry, he wrapped an arm around me and

smiled at a lens on a phone

This was the only evidence there was

lenses provide us just enough

I want to cry, I want to weep until I cannot tell you

but I am in search of the miraculous

I don’t want to plagiarize

I want to look at pictures I didn’t take

holding the journeyer as I smile a dumb smile

Leather jacket disposed of, glasses broken on New Years Eve

I don’t fall off a roof or a bridge

in Los Angeles or Amsterdam on purpose

I don’t even drop cement with lights around me in a garage

I want more than the water to break my fall


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