the far night and far torches, the kept men let -- out --she made circles in the outskirts, she had debated between the optics ofskirt/pants. she finally decided on convenience; the baby wasthe curve inside cargo-pants, his little fingers, china-spindles, like under-eyelid sleep; heturns and waits inside her, for -- brave new world, his profileis… Continue reading poem: rally
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i could be bound in a nutshell and count it as infinite space if not for these bad dreams
the last pavilion 