A
window lock three girls chasing me
sweaty
rim partially open
bottom
gravel
air
gone
ground
through thick cold
frozen
garden
Diffused
with hope
a
careful noiseless morning
rising
from images of life
feminine
tame more beastly revenge
bleed
at whose end no trees grow
lock
old nice game my hands burning
of
the toilet looked down at this end
empty
everything feel anything
they
don’t turn at the glass doors
Sire
solemn not to the look to thorough
when
on the other powers companionship stands
its
face tame of the image it gave
race
of one’s everything,
seeping
through the holding . . .
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