The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

grit 1,2,3

1. color, their posture, their throne, and their symbol. they
are spread out like a disease, and then, the air, i found myself
spread, lying back looking at the birth of stars, like a thinner
membrane, breath. you feel your body spread out everywhere
across the desert, you in time. you will know all real war-time

2. perception and thereby repressed, spread across yet more
language, and across the social, always opaque rooms or beneath
trees where canopies spread everywhere, waiting, tremulous green
sward. listen, i keep trying to spread the word and call you,
the diasporic spread of humans fearful of themselves. neither
men nor women have spread legs or other in/attentive views;
cancers spread like pools of artificial life across desperate
thought and the end of the lines, which spread from a; there may
be skeins of interiors spread like paste between us. we wear our
clothing until it waves towards the state, spread over space and
time, specificity of value; it's measure words, they spread out,
the loudspeaker like indirect lightning spreads the word. and
they spread out constellations, line up the measure words, and
they spread out cold, come gone heat, so much crying, stress,
bombing, in these parts

3. depression, lists, rage spread, planes spread out, grids
widen, less and less corners, suffocated; when i think of
myself, i think of me lazily spread out across all the trace

4. the texture spread everywhere,
that split me open, spread me; i turn crust,
spread like a stain, modalities collapsing into one another,
kill us before we spread across the earth,
towards the past, spread like an eddy or delta,
because the past can rip us open

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