What we are not is a boa constrictor.
The man is astounded by how the woman could stand on such a dirty surface. The woman gazes across the river; she ponders why man destroys beauty to create rigid patterns out of cut stone.
Exclamation moves toward question, fully dressed. "Between us punctuation there is an ocean", exclaimed the exclamation. "Although," started question mark, "The presence of lines does not appear too terribly toxic."
If levels of toxicity are in question, they're probably very high.
Staircase to staircase, I may place a hurried foot upon your heart
from the dream time to real time the body started out as a metaphor - who knows what it will end as. what we need is reduction, a shoddily constructed nest or camouflage, a flimsy home, a thinking cap.
Somehow the pivot in my knowhow remains in disruption.
and though how do we break, come open, speak, how do we tell; i am only my words and yet I suppose so much else, how can I be broken so that all of the words come out, how do i speak...my impenetrable body.
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