The pines rise to meet the earlier half of morning. While we catalogue snowflakes, our hands still age, migraines happen every day, and I cannot love you all. Outside, deep blue
becomes the right kind of influence. Hard starts are pitched from the plotline. Each eye blinks with a different perception of the spectrum
Said Dali to Lorca:
…escape
from the watch
and become
a new bodily joint—
in the place
that corresponds
to the sex organs
of bread crumbs…
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