p

 a sweep of hair
moving chairs
throwing cares
what do we share
but the love of dares
in our picnic pears
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v

under the night
with cries of light
the blind kisses
his lost bride

1.2

the cripple sat down
mumbling into voices
forgiving neighbours
in his clear glasses, when
matters are concern
warm regards lies
over last generations
of repetitions, roses.

25

the sound of wind
strolling in my ears
with wet socks under my feet
i crawl myself
into black sheets

t

over the same fire
in curls of laughter,
swan followers
have no muscles,
but joints.

d

this weather, race
a wind chase
heavy breathing
penetrating
cheers of rain
cascading into
the pride of light.

c

he closely wets
a leaking wound
hearing gently
fingering through
some air
to repair