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Pollen fossil long
trees grew taller
on each side of the path,
with no man to walk between them.

Now I move and the forest eats and whimpers.
When will the cicadas begin to speak,
when will we eat rugby and begin?
We can live with our little holocausts.

I have a woman-shaped hole in me.
Who can cut out an emptiness?
My astral hair like a blowtorch
two forms in my botched earthly guise

going at it like criminal puppies.