Cnthonic porch. Side-real garden. Sugar met salt, saltsugar. Black cat collarbone spill. . .Warble a worm in our throats,wetalked birdtalk. Talked against birdtalk,night, neck made of string. Night was asking where to next. . . Nowhere.Nothing. Nothingness. Gnosis putsalton our tongues.
-Nathaniel Mackey
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