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word salad

Dusty soliliquies and a smattering of the ways that I
breathe still underneath your fluid wieghty tapping
strumming saliva rivulets from the strings of some
tired wired guitar. In the corner I suck on my teeth
and remember just yesterday how you can go half blind in the afternoon from a moment of filling and of emptying and of spinning within myself twist these thoughts into tight linen knots round my thigh feels secure this constriction is the thing that reminds me

i...am...breathing

and these thin paper mirrors are the eyes that despise me on the days filled with hummingbirds and with magpies and with soft ghostly butterflies there are one too many sisters

here

and will paris remember himself this time

and will helen

ride away to the mud splattered blue eyed sunset on a tall wooden horse of her own manufacture

burning

nothing

final

ly

9:45 a.m. - 2006-08-15
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