1517
5.56
25.ii.24
the forms themselves
for wise surprise
as empty as
the song unfeathered
forest free of wings
the day of just the
clock
.
the shape in only
its dimensions
mere pedant courtesy
strength and no
opinion
a chariot without
career
the navel lacking
lint
.
the numbers lost to
counting
a sure and certain
knowledge
a priori sprig of dry truth
sea of mere tides
.
lifeless, the planet
spun
the giving up
without the ghost
no one to
nothing to see
.
pitfalls of the old
abandoned mine
rotted uprights, fallen
beams
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