I smile and can face the virus of the age when I remember you are the rabbit come out from the earth who raced to the sea instead of the barley flats, unafraid of the cold, unafraid of the beast fish culling the flesh of the water, heart hammering for the mouth of the fish, it’s touch, it’s skin which is like no skin of the soil or the hatch of the soil, and the wide walled gut of the godfish, and the wide walls of Ninevah, gilded of impaled brain and rind, and the salvation of the wild earth by the pardon of fire before your eyes, and when plotted events having been granted aversion is the monument eminence.
Is your eye swollen? Is your credit in the gutter?
In rags, you are marked and I know you will return, 91, O’Hare → JFK, the H1 to the Young Street. The book that cannot be read, though I know what it contains. Without eyes or image I have dreamed of it in a place that is wholly not my mind and I remembered your name written on the page and I will go down to the river and die with this kept in my closed fist, and the sun shimmering on my empty skin lifted by the water, and I will become three lines in a gazette quietly like the whitestar potato unfolding in darkness.







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