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This is brain localization. How to read a face,
learn to hike the peaks and valleys of a skull.
A landmine in there, I drop the table salt
so my action is followed by fixable bad luck.
When the clock stops, I’m watching. In time
there will be fake flowers worth the weight
of water, and we’ll forget the difference
between thirst and contentment.
There a fist, here a hand, it’s as if existence means visible,
and reaction is an aftermath taken for granted.
Who points out the echo of what’s seen?
A broken window is many windows,
but I’m afraid of so much sun.
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