My Love

And today against everything the dry well at the bottom of the heart
An incomplete deck of playing cards sleeps in the clenched jaws
Of a monk’s severed hand: I mean … . Oh well … . My Love … .
The bruise will stop by later as I walk in the real world but (again)
Into its deserts, its absurdities

 
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THE LEAK, after Francis Alÿs

I will walk in a city. I will walk In a city Over & over Over The course of 7 months, each day Feeling the inner warmth of pain As it breaks the ice of every muscle Walking through photographs and notes Of Doc Holliday, Bill and Grat... Continue →