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There is a well I have fallen into it How ironic that I am encircled by wellness When the outcome is grave Perhaps if we cry We’ll reach the brim Perhaps if we descend as far as it goes We’ll overflow Cry dear friend As long as you must Time has no end But oceans have thrust

Two hundred and eighty-two days— The number of days she hummed on my back To the tune of B-flat and a black hole Fifty-seven octaves below middle C That’s where I’d like to go for a swim, In star and moonshine Somewhere between your green-apple flesh In the taste of sugar lips and grapevine That’s from where all glow descends From far away and wholly too close to see That’s from where… Read More