The green sqaure, crisp, run overwith squeaking tennis flats, sunshinewhites: a body in back-arc, perfect line of tautmuscle that curves in, like lips tersed orbow of a ship, and flicks back -- slam and hit. The dropping hurricane sky. Face above the green-gray chiffron, floral bag; lost a lotof weight quickly. Sprawling orangechurch stained glass… Continue reading poem: wedding in florida
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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 