Sore-beshitted she was when the old Met was torn down, standing ghost-like by the rubble in her Madame Butterfly kimono as if anticipating her
Long ago, this colony met in secret congress with itself to fix the hour of its future dissolution, a date stamp invisible to that
The pit presses informing evidence— A map of dimensions, torso and all, More than scored, the peach is revealed Scarlet from the stone’s wall.