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The Chord

 Courageous lair "might prevail"
Waking up to her your "yellow coal"

Steals a its way

harm's imbrogliatic murmur
to concatenate

has been "said"
a mortal habitation or cut in air

that air leaks through

here too


Tricked again out of
hope's chord

The oscillatory hum in the head, or

continual reaction in the wet mouth to
old oranges, or

mistakes in form
"I retain a clear memory of afternoon light.
" A vertebra unfolds its wing, its smallest wing, the pleasure particulate of such a wing (harp's corde) a our mycelium

by Erin Moure
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