Weaving through hypnotic series/spending last winter /gazing through a delta shape/ a crack in the window/deja vus in neon /the hysterical one, male, /since he reached puberty ,blessed in sweat/sometimes spit flies/ from the corner of his mouth./Nurturing within himself, a time approximate to the tide,/hands of the clock ,a dorsal fin,/ (a little flow will do)/ as the voices in the movie Kronos/crowded him out/ he drank flavored cola from battered jars/till the time he sleeps drunk /to pee in the bed./Bilious; there’s  no room for unlocking the door; it’s ajar./You take  sufferance, it’s vital, /whenever you leave the room,/ to surrender in stupendous moves, /improbable pantomime/ that works out in wrath/ having a ball with The Book Of Numbers

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