the poem her belly marched through me as
one army. From her nostrils to her feet
she smelled of silence. The inspired cleat
of her glad leg pulled into a sole mass
my separate lusts
her hair was like a gas
evil to feel. Unwieldy....
the bloodbeat
in her fierce laziness tried to repeat
a trick of syncopation Europe has
--. One day i felt a mountain touch me
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