The Library in the Garden

A preoccupation with wounds: the simple machine the blood makes. So classical. As fetish: the spinning top, the gyroscope. To orient. A seam along the thigh. From which, or into. A string may. And the wooden pet that follows, simulacra — so gaily painted. Submissive to the vector. Patience. Lief circuit. Ask any small tribe hiding. There will be no inf(l)ection, no body. Another planet has stolen my name.

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