Furred Cup How often does your sister write an e,mail note about your mother who's been wandering at night for hours lost a block away: another incident. If she is mine it is the third in just about a month. The suddenness of change reminds me of a furred surrealist cup, and the imaginary mess I fantasize could now coagulate inside its tangible abstraction. The beaver pelt the artist glued and cut, the follicles of hair are lots of fun, except for the thing that's skinned. Astray and wandering another ordinary day.
Summer2005
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