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Lit as a chandelier, you go living
room to living room. There's no
easy way to say evening
in the half-dark.

You press your face to the window.
You turn into string.

Hours move like fish
in the room & you hold yourself
face & lips      to the evening.

I watch pigs
do simple things outside
& you      hair & fingers
laced like straw

touches of mud on your throat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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