Tongues twist tattling tales of impurity— like where we went to bed last night and what we drank for dinner. Generations upon generations have
Where do you feel it? She asks as I grip pillow tight look for visceral cues inside body that is hiding. My somatic experience
Curtained off I stare ahead at life- a sea-blue whirlpool its circumference my sorrow spun clearly, like a basket made of wicker. Our hopes
body lying soundlessly asleep time ticks forwards I started from the pain Halloween of 2012 no going backward I started from the pain kiss
Mismatched clothes on end of bed arrayed like a waiting lady’s maid both hands first. Sequestered in air conditioned time I lie building piles
The “I” sits on the couch contemplating its existence. Matter encounters matter. What is the matter, with Matter? We hear that we are separate.

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