(Continuing) Improvisations

4

The lack of lack; the fabrications of enemies.

Translation: One is never enough. As in,
the salted chips in the crinkled bag; the peanuts
dwindling in the open tin. From afar it looks 
like the mouth fervently working 
through prayers. Once you start, 
you can't stop. Even that
is a kind of suffering. 

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