let me destroy what was ours: here’s another and reclaimed, still burning. still burning you
ram—a highway—the tel aviv beach. the tell me here – and press the tooth into
prostitute, her name sawdust in your my palm. we have not yet learned to turn off
incisors. all those sleepless nights spent with our minds but our bodies won’t stop
phasmids on your lips. spindle legs tensed, shaking. phasmids on the eyeball of the sun.
grasping. before god, you had the universe. this is how we fix ourselves: another ram—
after, you have nothing but the gloating peal another flame—another knife. this time, no
of your own lungs. the body sold downriver voice calling don’t from above.
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wow this is awesome. we just made an art poetry book,
called “The Palace of Healing”
would be great to connect with you Michal about your
writing.