anchored by the shape of if. these treaties have to be
signed with a bleeding is that the way to go about trying to realign this large
chunk of reality? or realia? or
regalia? in the back-shadows of a private day slip how to gawk mawkish at the maggots
in the beehive regard where who is? resonates as if a landslide hid evening.
maybe heavy is the hearing aid blacked against talk of authors raining down,
lifting around. a flow instance is reminded. on the point, reaching out into
the sea, surrounded by sand in the warm dawn, there was a laundromat, standing
open with no one around but a siam cat, stalking thru.
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