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LA | NY A Special Edition of The East Village
Love, Alters, Everything 1. In the guided sheen of minus-dreams, I watch our youth stretched In the nook of a crossbow, The heart of a christened fact. We might as well pry open a snowflake, Make love in a zero, In zero gravity, with no one on top, With the yeah yeah yeah of draperies Shifting in the wind. 2. Je tombe, tu tombes, il tombe ... From my cyber-garden of Eden, These Cyclops-tears Are a stain on your identity, An ant carrying maybe-famines on its back, The ghost rushing for the truck In your caressed shadows, Summer on a porch, bottles out of breath, The sculpted gestures of enchantment's harmonious ark That splash onto you and onto you my disloyal ink, The ripped open lungs of my poetry, This paper-flesh.