| I threw out everything that didn’t give me a spark and hung all the whites on the table. Greens and deep dirt browns and grays. The sensory titillations of the day entered each limb’s phantom collapse and gait, tremor are you there? See until you are gone and there is only what you are seeing. Just trying that meant yesterday. What to do today. Falls the shadow. Copyright © 2015 by Gillian Conoley. Used with permission of the author. |
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