At the end of the rise in single
where everything has been put into play
am the child and claimed
puzzled by all the colors of all sexes.
mature in my mouth an apple. In my eyes
lake
track call shooting stars.
I let them come to me.
I want I can not say no. Hang
peak of birds,
the peak of the bow,
peak duplicate winged birds.
Transit passengers
the rainbow pass the night under my hat.
Photo: Irving Penn.
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