her face is oil, gleaming over the plate -- he takes long stock of arbitrated beefstock, the tender cuffedaioli shoots in glaze. less so, her melting face puffy body, weird drainof eyes down her face. I took her, new girl tremblingat auditions, when she was whole. the hole began when I left for fields, she… Continue reading poem: serotonin
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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 