1725
5.293
20.x.24
true that
for Rob Edmonds and the
Flying Islands Workshop
from the notes I made while
we were talking
where we are
and you won’t get away
it’s the each thing trap
draws all
and by the short and curlies
to the spirit of the variable now
might say matter-of-fact
as if all matter mattered
some will say it’s in the skin
some burrow under a heaven of choice
it wells up
and we wallow, knowing
the truth, I mean – what else is to be meant?
it’s deeply felt
or must, can’t be
might be the distraction
truth’s lizard still
and glitters
it’s Christmas comes to show
who and how knows what?
imagine dying on this hill
it is layered over another
like temples to exhume, re-bury
how funny what they believed back then
we have our own sky tomb as well
it’s cliché all along
where we have been these years
and larger with it writ
you couldn’t make this up
it’s all my own work too
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