Poet X : a treatise re: verse(d)

essay 364 : a rash mode

here we are in the years,  or uh,  the letters
the stanzas
ashtrays down by the lake
is that inmate, or intimate?  the molecule used
for metalworking
slip at the side-stream
on waking,  it was midnight with a cool breeze
dawn’s beginning to shape up
in the     whap!
a fever times space as it rushes by
down in the
cold mine,  working with an unpicked ax
across the documents  there are
variations on
square blocks of words on fire
& that
constitutes reality ..  et set, … a    rah!

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