Sunday, March 25, 2018

Little Sleep’s Head Sprouting Hair in the Moonlight, excerpt





.


you cling to me hard,
as if clinging could save us.
I think you think I will never die,
I think I exude to you the
permanence of smoke or stars,
even as my broken arms heal
themselves around you.

—Galway Kinnell


.
entropy
.





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