Fig. 3.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Under damp wrinkled cloths his latest work | a shoulder 
protrudes | child in a womb | amiable smoothed 
tender with a knife  | I’ve forgotten how to date 
without touching | can’t help but imagine his blade 
placed on your chin | I formed a habit of making them imagine
I’m feeling a rush | to hold you make a mold of it |’s 5 AM  
baked terra-cotta clay | last impressions of figures or busts | new ways
of changing what I’ve done | let it harden quick but leave the dust on
nuisance | how different will you feel 
on my eyelids | take your time head body stretch
out distress | The Burghers of Calais surrenders no heroic allegory
to fate | in a park designed for crowds to bump into each other | we finally met 

after months | you in a black blouse and boots

 

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