These nervous corners of rowing.

And in lighting the way some space is seen.  A gap of fortitude.  A handling of shame.

I have never seen an ending that comes out any other way.

You are replacing.  Even when it feels empty.  This cask of iron that sits on edge is waiting, waiting for a still moment to break the silence.  I am only thinking what you wanted to.

A finger scene.  A puppet show.  A marionette dancing along to a slow, slow change in emotion.  From frown to again.  This closing again.  Light sources mimic a closing again.  Lines make up circles that make up gendered flanks of persons in motion.  We are all headed to some place out there.  That place we can see, on the horizon, with crisp leaves wanting to call attention to seasons upon seasons.  Its all in full bloom right now.  It will be in deadened quickening before you know it.

I don’t want to be put on repeat.  A continuation of the same repeated process.  A repeat of pear and et and trap and ee and preeta, or is it preate.  ear pet.

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