dressing tatters with gleaming plastic
watching fevered lives
merge with glass.
Doors will climb
the paintings in their lobby frames
will begin to move
and I will not.
Mirror to the drain
cold fibers to regenerate eyes
the path a sword gash in linoleum
opens to the wider sky.
Hand resting on the burner
that turns me on
adhesive slant
bordered by brambles
pivoting toward.
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