Touch is mouth – day 13, late later – a gram per

Touch is mouth

The lion, the width, a number

The tiger they say is burning

500 candles an instant in the eye

Fearful symmetrics, not what the classroom

Shooting hand steadies. The circus

My brother and I are

Wet fur on the neck to be carried

Forward – each circle a planted

Eye. They say bright and the lit-up

The got and the rotating cuff

In the center of the tongue a roar

Map, a road to darkness and diss

Associations can only remain if there’s

A loop – to feed, to back. If you knock

Out the point total, the sum

Of every fear in the night

You will wake up in a circle

The lips rearing round you

I am certain, this tiger thin stripe



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