Proles who trampled a paragraph

Mathilda Cullen

No it was a grackle / yes I’m sure you can tell by looking at its tail / that says a lot about looking at something & knowing what it is / doesn’t it. / That one island off Norway where they’re trying to abolish time / nobody ages anymore / souls slip out their flesh suits / & bodies fall as young as yesterday. / Ink on the lip mistaken for blood. / Could you imagine people living / like animals / carefree he machine do its thing. / Summer’s annexed winter while we weren’t looking / for what will the poet eat for dinner / & here we are interested in manufacturing thunder. / Refuge from the lyric flourish the borders / of the sky and its insomnia for knowledge. / Observe this moment / how it confesses : the state body has entered ketosis & is beginning to break down / its people. A bluejay dropped into my periphery / & plucked a dragonfly from the air / & ate it and carried on / like a drone strike. / From a wound a cry a new calendar of falling. / I have not dreamt outside these corners. / It is one in the morning. / Listen: skunks are out there, somewhere, looting the dumpsters.
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