Project Fires

Smoke keeps rising , slowly, /wisps like those from gopher holes,/ in a bloodless language/you wreak salt on wounds, patient murmurs, / sentiments deep in bone and tissue,/ contained and buffered, but rare and exalted: you kick over the Xmas tree with a leer, savage, /a thirty second science,it attests to loudness,/this intruder on a mud flat who asks the grains in your organs to open /a mild torture , it referees a shift in the spectrum, /finally a glimpse of the fuse. /Underneath, everybody crumples, gallant

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