thin bright line out west —thin-ice line, with rotating feet, wrapped in rottingbandages: the awkward loop before air,angled madly —Release. Grab history by the face and bea hard line. Let the rush of information runoff, water carrying sludge down the border: mine is the hand, but also machine andbuilding, even propulsion — even country: if… Continue reading poem: Here is how to win, later.
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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 