painting by Shahbuddin... photograph taken by me... haha... who else could be that bad in photography?all the poetry is sleeping. i have to be the flesh and meat of frosted hands and guts-- they are people o's and i's and vowels cluttered in their throats-- they are like themselves and i am in between. i try to drown in their glass windows... but who could penetrate ice? i am no water, i melt but i am no ice too.
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