LONG TERROR

Fox back, shuffling, sling-armed.

Freshly bleached, and the body over

combed, or toward you.

Equipped with a zipper, equipped with a hood,

an identity, a test for the brittleness of glass.

The molten, tending toward the stature of

a gnome, proves that solitude induces a

gemlike hardening. She asked him to repeat,

“compactification,” like discovering something

already behind glass. Like making yourself

undiscoverable behind a hatch of swishing grasses, 

under light like algae,

under the length of a stranger’s life,

over the burn marks from something crazy on

the platform, and the one right type,

from which we all walk home at varying distances.

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