The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

crimped doubles

abstract animated avatar maquette
the holes open to one another or not at all
the bodies are crimped, collapsed, coagulated
the bodies crash and crumble without destiny
it's as if the holes puckered and faltered
and they might slosh what might be there
pure gifts from one to another
there's no happiness without exchange
there's no grief without collapse
the holes no longer speak or chatter
animated communities have no history
their history's left behind
monotony... monotony...
but there's always an echo in the hollow
where a letter lies sleeping

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