Month: September 2025
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all but signing loud
the dowry of our lumber lights placid and fractured like two gazing suns, one upon the other, in a rage of god’s stowaway gifts, stuck in natural patterns, and assured...
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lubber line proximity (Prince of Memphis, Part II)
where the professors are tying knots in agriculture bluejeans on soft curves like fickle grasshoppers shot on stones of ivorysmith hope-filled dockwrecks casting about, on total and complete communication cited...
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fractal dollars for a hostile church’s porcelain lamps
macron dirt bellows for Princeton portion ice makers on cluttered shelves in the rueing filter-piebald horses’s whisperings where fathers fear hammers, ejected, like smokestacks over contrite Sunday packages stolen from...
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when the moon tires of the explicit audience
the moon is God’s son born out of wedlock while Earth is suffering from the privilege of being called “God’s Creation” – She is bought and sold, among common degrees...
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not the chariot, or the escaping fire of our port
burning books and naming the dead after various chores of avoidable regret – constructs of elk in soft portions are drinking in heaven’s spas and toasting to hell, like Labrador...
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A constellation of the retired house you’re in
“You didn’t eat my body You ate books of my body,” or, so said a voice in the doormask night. “You did not want to win You said you would...
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The Symphony of Tired Soot in Restraining Trembles
Beauty of moons untempered like lips, like fomenting grass curtains growing before tempo rides, show tunes where Scrub Jays like God pasteurize guns in the fostering heat of a dozen...
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Letica Saints Wade in the Water
Our tousled materiality and scope of reasonable diadem – hearts are dancing doubt in the cargo-river of Letica where beer, sugar, and rice, on the backs of dock laborers, invigilate...
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squared market concrete-loving marches
broken form inlays dominate the arena crowd like salads at the ends times marches curated by fans of missteps and flagrant boyhood they did not know they could have stopped...
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In which Dorothea sits behind me flipping the pages of my life
Staggering is her ill-willing gift for God’s staggering dockhand felt temples, in our souls and in our hands out stretched for each other, but not needing to control, she does...