layered walls if these hours in winter, like clay
and here the water is something that slowly crawls out from under the ground,
we have nothing but mud and no longer a question of shaping,
but to stand out from the material (above all) to space
the extent that remains the same distance from the bodies
and this is not digging, but feel the mud, the unfolding of the skin, where
touch, now the gap .
saw swallow amplitudes in the most convulsive Penetration
but is coming in the dawn, which clears the iris and weigh the palms
as steps on the sky, back home:
as the wind that ruffles the look on the water surface as
spreading the shade and is discerned and grace and bread slices:
is just your rough callus, the stroke, that face, the wrinkle
next to my smile, the color. distinctions.
the course is in the sweat
and I heard the trembling of separate drops, the inflection of those propositions
juxtapositions of space and - when
hand shook the wrinkles of the cloth - where chiaroscuro,
and evidence: sprained the extension of the way, the anxiety
to be present - see, it is alienating the broad
unveiling of the wrinkles of the body sculpting
in the back spasm.
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