Dream of evening
then the bubbling mess
at my arriving on time in fits of spit up and drool that
identify me as a speaker of language variously establishing itself.
The globe and map were drawn of artists, for the sake of new
thinking, and we were supposed to believe them, growing beautiful in constantly
discarded minutes, as they collided with new lands, horizons of their own
fashioning.
. The extremes are actually rather broad swaths. The middle
line is but a hair, says Emerson.
I imagine I go outside. There is
nothing.
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