7.
Phantasy integers
keep the machine happy,
you?
Numbers count nothing,
they are the dried stains
that colors leave
on the mind, the
“angstroms of affliction”
he called them
before he went away—
hespera men
ên
ên
evening and the conspirators
split blades of grass
and whistled through them
till the whole meadow
squealed and shivered—
go ahead, hurt my feelings,
punch the air.
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