rolling tongue as gutted on roller coaster cons a stand for quicks on a gripped percent landing shape in muscle of toner portraits space formulates grains of what sandy types are loading a distance pouring rain, then cloudless, a soon to snow and pound the days to soon as a sky of days with cold […]

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Corner Dropping

it’s cold in here open window not fooling or— what’s the smell in the unseen between us, the dust collecting a rust stench lends a milky fissure, or I see you milk thistle later in the day when crates are stacked in car and cards are stacked within relief and the whole blow of wind […]

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cold in the chill sweeps body to the across section without try and always then in the tether, as is law, which may not bypass surgery of the necessary, if only immortal than of course, it does not work the work it does like that but what of society, as if we know human rights […]

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Outside Dog Yelping

outside a dog yelps, it’s becoming cold, the screen between the world and the room is available with its open-holes of patience, the un-armed, open-calmed cross-roads of life so dearly, so uninstitutional, the dog outside yelping

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it’s become cold in here listening to Bach on the flute from the corner of every note spiders ponder the angle at which they receive light and days pass in the manner of mass shadows culminating beneath eyebrows the crease in the forehead train tracks in the eyelashes snow covers the skin of earth and […]

Read more "Missing"