1280
4.vii.23
4.186
day spill
frivol
no knowing
where
or
from
cold
light
uncertain
patching
spreads
like something set to
edge
around an ache
in
the random
in
all the garden green of time
bodies
belonging
lost
in the drift
each
to own
an
admiration of clouds
shreds,
patches
we
should start a ladder
light
up the few fumes
a
hole in the page
could
go through
could
go back and colour in
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