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Shuttered

I work.
I work and I dress beautifully.
I work and I dress beautifully and I listen with attention.
I work and I dress beautifully and I listen with attention. I speak with elegance.

I work and I dress beautifully and I listen with attention. I speak with elegance.
And then I go to a disassembled two room apartment
and I fall – no, I do not fall, because I cannot and because writing
the phrase “I fall” is lazy and anymore I do not write nor do I dance
nor really even practice – really I do not live

I just think about it.
Living.
What it might be like
What it used to be, but this, too,
is lazy
as is all sentimental mental gestures.

I keep thinking
is despair
a mind-state
or a feeling-state

and how the fuck
did we get
into this State –

trump
on the button
Iran on the brink

I cannot listen to voices anymore

When did language
become
mere noise?

Celan on the bridge.
Berryman on the bridge.
Woolf in the water.

Language
an assault
that cannot contain
mind-states
feeling-states
or the end of States.

Here is an amusing story:
I am in Love.
No.
I
Love.
Get me closer, shave away the excess.
Love.

A
young man
dark skin
darker mind.
Elusive and cruel
and he
stole me
from my-self

and he shook
my frame
like a predator.

His eyes are blacker than his skin.

For a long time
she was Artemis.

But now
she is
Persephone
with no mother
to grieve her.

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