there's a messy verge -- to conduct through the past lush/heatand moans against the chair, how much reanimates, how muchcomes into me, felt again -- now the narrative has softened, we makeplans to drive out of town and drink tonight, ice creampints; somenight the new-word in my lap will remake -- division of time, i… Continue reading poem: ship of theseus
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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 