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I am not I
when called to account—
plaster over, dumbly benched
the corrosive ardency
of blinkered identification.
To affirm nothing, a veil
of asymptotic bent,
prattling over-
tunes in the striated…
I have to hide the secrets that I learn from the alley cats.
First. That the Creation was far quieter than we assume. Second. The opposite reversal of things. The stripes in the lens. The thoughts…