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you are more than just you it said you are more than that big inside of bone ribs (not yet cracked up into pieces, each) that


and never sag, but twist



creaking in wards to the too small inside middle core of you (no seeds in this apple, red skin and white flesh spelled inside out) too big on that inside casing and buttered up with skin thin, chicken skin pimpled up greased on as with a polished blade, molded by fingers leaving print in whorls, everywhere, (you, it says, have skin of cold lake clay) on that casing thinly, you are more the melt ing inner heat of a candle, really (as outside flows ininsides burn out) more molten that part sputters and blisters burning

the molting of the cool waxy surface bits (than of the wax blot, - but you call it moon.) you are that part which will

go out and twist twirl as the see-through silk skirt will twist pirouetting in an open room of slat fresh


(breathe, here, yes, in)



(can始t you smell them, yes, pine)

that smoke, thin and frilled in the brilliant white of only - stars, is what we call them bit left in the room, blown out. More smoke inside the bone ribs, I thi(It said this, of you.)

it said this of you  
it said this of you  

short poem.