Page 54 - Iterations:Other/Is

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the texts, square one, round a bout when the wick is lit
an argument of limbs forested in ticks
in diamonds, in gelatin, the cut cloth of forever1 for cyberspace for acid and dark velvet for #ngerprints for pills for hatchets to (oors for forever Ticonderoga
and you left eye droops
and your four wings open in false predatory
and overturn the tables
and in translation pet an anchor rusting away corner of dream
and all nocturnal birds weather spit in observance of disowned myth
*no one knows who we are. the moon is waxing without butter #sts in Scorpio and the water is so deep in this third decan that everything is drowning & will die; this is true. when we wake packed with formaldehyde & I loved you in the space of nothing when the woods were silent and you made and a voice which in this lifetime will not be recreated; the yarrow always grows through the pavement of past industry and when I go home there is beer to be made from the street side harvest. I have given little besides the ocean and what have I given — no one responds so I begin cobbling shoes without any clue how to do so\