I like looking at the other side—the side
that’s not
opposed
to death.
The side that accompanies us to the beach, and moves us
like marionettes. The side that
grows a new face every second,
tufts of grass like hair flowing to the water.
A sugar
factory, small, emitting sweet gusts.
A blackbird flies
through
the lines of a bridge. He is constant. I am not
as soccer players suffer in the hot field.
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