we are people waiting in the sunlight, going after stimulus after stimulus after stimulus. we are disenchanted: girls sitting, stitching embroidery into pants— boys making suits from torn-off skins, the flesh still wet and rotting. we are taken from text and retold as myth: a New Generation, all jazzed all pixelated, reliving 2003 like we… Continue reading poem: the kids from yesterday
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i could be bound in a nutshell and count it as infinite space if not for these bad dreams
the last pavilion 