“O mouth
O trusting life”

~ D. Bonta

Once voluptuary reptile. Systolic variation. Bird with unseasonable blue plumage that fled raised pitchforks in the fields and flew into the temple of ennui to make a fracas of light. Who decided it was going to become someone’s job to decode the instantaneous? Last night, while we slept, something in the air bound the lightning. Hyphae opened and spread their tiny veils under the surface. Handfuls of evidence speckle the grass: cells and spores that teem as if out of nothing. Out of sight, up in the rafters, the bird scrolls through its recitals of being and not-being here.

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