so is this what it takes? we are not meant to speak of the inner life, the girls falling like apples; it should all be chaste: small stories of people kissing in stations and camps, her glory fluttering under your hands, her becoming all raw and red. you thought you were a god because she… Continue reading poem: summer fruit in the city
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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 