THE LOOK OF TRANSITION This dun unrolling doesnĘźt reflect us. Seagulls rest secretive eyes under plastic bones. A cut-out boat is tissue-thin, horizonĘźs a bent cane. It waits to ping now into then. * Night waves shelve silvers for blacks, individuate in rhythms not ours, and ours. Alien heartbeats the hours uncover in failing bodies (now flashed with graces darks allow)
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