when the world was open
I could not taste
from the ribs of my frozen barrel
I rolled around smoking
on oily wheels
in a glass case avoiding faces
in a paint tub of wounded spiders
on a raft made of soaked erasers
I stood my lens against a fallen spear
and stared a train tunnel into being
on the tar of blood I watched
the bright garages
fallen oaks with airplane dashboards
sky's flank of seething veins.
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