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LA | NY A Special Edition of The East Village
Stem of Stemming 10.5.99. Ctsk. You and I memorized the alphabet that hides every further development lost on purpose in a closet lavish with wits parable of fears that may remain dormant between owl and blindness in a rush the oven sun where weather is learned by touch or you'll eat your way out The cocoon stage like a dim nose of an eve peering from the ruins of a college of unbroken word, now the unfulfilled only a poking reticence as the book stays closed, the notes untaken or a wreath of memory floating-off seems a paranoia acerbic and burnt, though laurel'd if now between us is a nothingness never separate, what maturity forks over: I know no more sleep! The crevice of sleep is blown up! It is a trampled souvenir! No course in miracles but snow's leaving of its torch midair where nobody goes -- until you pilot your own geode and skull crooked head out of the muddy currents the inside brave stillness impasse of a bed maybe it was a stick not a snake maybe it was a hand not the skeleton of a tree, scare-babe silence in the hot summer sensing, hope tearing the fabric that floats off, losing definition, rote if only to demand attention, sleeping into the scandal of absentmindedness, death the gorge where a copperhead or cottonmouth might swim or stick its head, taking these dreams into its serpentine, its own sentient slip past day's literacy into afternoonıs confusions here now, you and I ... you and I ...
Sean Killian Index