remember, you were born

an unspecified point


wire line across the palm,

you wondered what would happen—

wrap around the wire


remember—the puncture

points do not end, project

through to depth poles

through to recurring birth


air mixes with blood in the palm,

between divine aberrations


where noses in the grass where

there is only grass


black, twitching points dance

across field surface


merge, become one

for a moment then

expand, break apart


fly far away

to come back


viscous lines outline

familiar shapes within reach

to space beyond



at each opening,

a line is a tether,

or conveys air for travel


is how deep you breathe

through the aperture


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