>abstract #1

>There is more to a long time than years. There is
staying still fretting for itself bloodying its knuckles
in secret knowing nothing of men and the arc of their troubles

…a serrated tool.

I have thought more of myself than I ought but
mostly less

…if only I didn’t have to speak

…and if bombs were beautiful.

I have breasts: they are beasts
couchant
tame as vanilla.

I have wanted things.

It is a long haul to the grave all
hunched gathering hair

…black is best for that.

Even love is not red
or something bright.

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