burning the interior (15 on the late)


a burnishment, this red, this heat this head conformity and shape of light

you say the window is the eye to the soul of a building and what it opens

you say take the night from its stab wound and let it bleed all over the stray
and damaged stars

you say our arms are only so wide they cannot encompass the curtailment
of anything other than swaying

we say together the words in our harm

we say there is a window that is the building that is the way out of one body

if only the smoke and the tinder box was built a vacuum

you say we are together in this and the color means it

all a compass can do is get the direction

all a compass can do is get correct about north

all the diameter in our openings do not count for magenta for what the height of buildings suggests

we say together the world is our charm

a city that knows its edges

a country that swallows its disregard

the center is a glowing thing in it, wrong lit all its heads | parking in the basement

you say the window can be an opening even if it’s painted shut

the center is a sieve collapsing its collect call for direction

we say together

a spark is a hard container


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