Peter
Ciccariello
| Écorché It is useless to study; I cannot know you, The thing for the thing. Who you are is to foreshadow The very effort to understand; And who you are not Can not hope to reveal That hidden, fundamental, essence. That I can only glimpse Rather than duplicate The fleeting somewhere Of your outward appearance, Revealing the thinnest skin you slip behind, That diaphanous pleat of self Remaining the last inward armor Of your most temporary being you want you want the cool corner of the bed sheets you want this and that the toast well done the way you like it the yolk not quite firm you consume you leave nothing there is nothing left you want such and such you want her shadow between the soleus and the gastrocnemius you get and you want more and more you stand up you sit down you sleep and sleep some more again and again you want until there is nothing left until there is no difference between a strand of her hair and a cloud passing in the sky until there is no difference yet still you want >>>Harriet Zinnes
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