The angst, procreative,
Of a force that desires,
Pleases, in abstraction,
Pictures of the moving world:
A collage of follicles pumping,
Whose magnification explodes
In every sound,
On the edge of images
When love hears a voice
And tries to squeeze.
Fit: the rows of slats,
Blocks and cubby-holes, the owl
Perches on the shelves, glass
Illuminates the…
We will not name them! Come in,
Come out, and in the center,
The steady fire of evidence --
The senses know something more.
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