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this is eureka's pinch
of feedstock.
whether it is found
within the shroud of death
or just standing stark as
a myth in a tree
or in the hypnotic
heartstrings that play
against the possibilities
that demonstrate
like arrowheads;
the blockhouse
must ferment.
whether by
topography and touch
or open philter
or the togetherness
of silverfish
its fiefdom is
headed for the
sky.
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parallax
peter schwartz |
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