A winter light creeps in. The form of the pink Sun
just above the rooftops.
Bacteria are forgotten.
Olivier is dead.
It is atrocious.
Olivier aka Pronto Rushtonsky is dead.
The police report finding him, his arm broken, at 22 hundred 20
25 October nineteen ninety one,
that he lay inert next to the train tracks
at the Quai de la Gare
his arms forming a cross.
That is all the police have to say. They want to see.
Olive branches come to mind.
The first state is absence.