The room becomes a red flag, / a bloody mist silhouette / of all my ghosts.
PANORAMA Before opting, before whichever road, the current scrapes the sound of rocks, light, leaf litter. The wind, neither northerly nor southerly, clears life on an indefinite point, dry thistles on clay. Man creates a city in his mind, offers his exhaustion, the rainwater, electricity which snakes through cables. Later defeats the evidence, graduates from […]
Man shouts, “Hey there, beautiful!” from the other side of the street, and Woman dodges two lanes of speeding cars to meet him. Let them hoot, she thinks. I have found love.
we worked we wormed
on the roots / on the bodies
of fruit we never tasted /
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