1910
6.83
24.iii.25
there’s the art of
not being who you are
for the sudden gust
without
which not here to tell
how it
changes you
to hide to
pretend
to survive
the copula
like a tight
cap
take your
pills
does it
mend
those hates
made us?
both hands
of the future
or as you
were
how often a
voice, a skin, betrays
a certain
genital inclination
all in the
head as well
deny it
that the
world goes round
you know you’ll
die from what you did
the itch is
far far down
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