Thursday, December 26, 2024

from Fair bodies of unseen prose,

 

, point you toward the entrance of a house or a jagged stone wall.

How close we are. Surfaces. The difference of clocks. Shoulders, curved in the light. In which blood flows. And from this day, earth. All electrons. I begun my education with redundancies. Pattern recognition, charred residue. Sequels, reboot. Recalculating. Inverted time, a cramped bed for two. My own disruptiveness. Absolute integrity. Words, itch. Noisily. To talk against wishes, false in the mouth. Repetitions. Walk, a bit. The water’s edge. Doomed, to consequence. Into the air. This sparkling mist.

 

, or locked away in the nonsense of lungs.

Slated, never in our selves. The missing stone, water. Determining practice. You do not wish to change geometry. Is there love on Mars? Am I unavailable? The way a beat so casually, drops. The temperature, across red sands. The moon’s influence. How intrepid. The ear, you lend. Be clear about instructions, what. Or flows, a fortress. Tears. My only elsewhere.

 

We are relational forms unseen, linings becoming more porous with time.

How visible, this song of words. How rational, relational. Row upon, the body’s memory. This mishmash, practice. This loss, arising. To disrupt weather patterns. No sound is, less. A logical objection. One wishes to outlive. I descend some steps.

 

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