a sweep of the universe entirely its own, infinitely plural, triumphantly personal. They grab and hold an immensity from the rays of their generatrix, present etched by them, hold their space, manifest their hold, on the ground.
DAY Aging all day I start at the tincture of white glue alibi of my horridly convex face. It looks beady/ a green clot of rage waggled on the end of this very finger in the dry park at the mouthing boy. He wanted only tenderness for his pains, but could just about say ‘no’ and ‘I did’ leaving ‘definitely’ for joy and baying at the edge the water came to, when the water was there.
NIGHT When you get there the bed is already drowned I fall into a straightness my bleached eyes pinned to muslin my warden thoughts go ice-skating for executioners. When day breaks released from the marathon screening without snacks I’m the zombie manicurist, I pass my diseases off and sorrows on like
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