Rusty Morrison Precarious Fable Suspended between the infernal and supernal gods, birds land vicariously on my roof. Add-ons are welcome. Call it dazzling, a new form of lichen or an ancient mold, each addition made usable. Refrigerate the lilies at night, they’ll last longer. Even the carnal becomes a relic if I don’t use it respectfully. Nearly, I cut off the top of my finger with the new kitchen knife. Counting backwards exists, counting forwards almost does.
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