2/26/94
Heart freed of fluttering you take me
back, though I was holding. A word
is a test. The city finds it, repeating,
like a wish, like something willed,
it moves it forwards by two
directions: sliding backwards and
eyeing forwards. If it doesn't ignite
you, it was nothing, you dusted
yourself off, strengthened your clothes
and walked on. "Instruct them by giving
permission, tuning the continuum with
shades of color, notes of sound."
Fate is an awning, bumping against
the side of the house in a heavy
breeze.
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