2 : BLOOD MARKS TIME
Shut down the music as distraction; bring on silence for accompaniment. Such is the air of winter: spare, luminous, not fallow, but dormant, which given the nudge of elbow connected to nub of pen scratches ephemeral marks deep into the ice of the century. Suddenly seeing & hearing are one. Blood marks Time. Eyes become wings touching air, carefully enough to fly.
y o n d T i m e b y R o b e r t G
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