The Dress I Wrote Backwards

 

She slipped into time’s knot curled up
She slept in her arms false or true
She dynamic twin palms
trims the stubborn trees
unpleats sun from sharp edges
builds a reflex into knots moving past abstraction
into liquid
She backwards in a dress
one by one between
a figure to think a figurine
She was troubled by many
naming them elements carbon or pulse
She sent balloons into the great
the blue-headed year
and being economical
pairs together in frames the triple
one block of ticking as she
the parallel expert of night
cuts her own hands
how prosody swallows
before you go
and thinks her cash in streaks
joining simple laws to the wind
She what relates to a graph
is omnipresent maximal
coming to a standstill in wood
She heavy traffic having driven
around the end of the edge of
the pursuit of formal steam
She glimpses artists of the moment
painting the pelvis the ulna the remnants
the red gestures in single moments that bend
in the innermost of schools
the combinations figure themselves
as in epics or symphonic sheets
She watching from the inside
what utopia loves in utopia
milk in her hair
and ankles

 

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