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PURCHASE THE DIGITAL COLLECTION (2013)
B. 1.7.1844 Lourdes, France / D. 4.16.1879 Nevers, France
In a hailstorm of hammering
up go the red notices.
It seems the fund of conceit Iím concealing swells.
I was never warned before
but with little tongues it laps at its sources
the milky joints of buried pipes
incessantly, fattening. Conceit-fed conceit
seeps through the walls where my eyeballs roll and my innards slip-slap, until a sheen of conceit
hello, from the wrong end of Love Canal
coats my every socket, pouch, posture and mood. But stay:
you can almost feel your bone loss.
Consolation Site: The habit was damp
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