THE BODY AT SIXTEEN

finds the quickest way to touch—has rock weight to be thrown again and again soon he will realize his flesh is god wispy and tongued it knows to pull and heave our prayer comes back quick to burst like the first frozen layer over a muddy puddle—broken by a clumsy boy— her long, faultless arm grips the yes of my body I often think about that night (ceaseless) blown wild through the gray tongue of...

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