his greens were more blue, the sad sweep of the trees and the pavementrunning to the river; curling around string lights with bleeding paperghosts taped over the bulbs. the brown staleness of becoming yourself, insideyourself and alone, except for the demi-god robots heaving an adolescent gaspthrough the television screen. this is all clunky: to find… Continue reading poem: flora/fauna memory
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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 