Trouble fell weeping at the sight of paved-over love. Distinctions that hold branches apart against sky, seeing it through lenses or even the eye if round. The final heat of a negative drifting off the road, inside outside. I fell I snowed I conjured into not. Fixed annoyance, detailed love. Sinkers, undesperate, are always the last donut. And this once pair, a final spelling in figments of polish, of door.


 

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