The field is oppressed by sky (Isn't it?) but only insofar as
it's factual : the point, i.e. is to kill
because under the skies &interstitial palms of the times
to move about, pass from
one light to the next, is to me a tail's dread limp because so
bloody (as all the beings
circulating within their own cries know all too well!).
Then I return to hot breath,
sleep, just where I happen to be, & everywhere I go
Unsubstitutable breath
No comments:
Post a Comment