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Heaven last lisp elephant forgetfulness
slides into place
Born sideways born slippery
The dog-tired envelope of our tongues is
hunting down the fugitive of chandeliers shaped like bulldozers
I am empty
The turnip farm is furrowed, and the lights are on in the cabin
My mother lives here.
My clan is removing its skin.
The tulip is opening our legs.
Bishop-drunk, on sponge binoculars

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