plural

i can’t bear to write a theme where two end up the same its untrue of you it is! matter of fact interrupted by your name as the punctuate of breath is this why words are born or what is this what you are for

and all the same it was a story
parsed and strung
and sad-looking on its own

notice how the story sharpened in each hand
and some were roused by it and some were utterly complacent at it
others squealed on

but you sat like a cat
it was nonsense
but that was who i was then

squalor pulsed behind the word squalor was the baby eyelids and dead elbows the waste released in machine gun in chopped bodies in bridge jumping old dying smell what is singular is alone and stinking but pushed to the back of living word the punctuate breath the tongue the great aperture! why words are born or what is this what you are for

 

 

 

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