Edge-ways (12/17)
Bridge of the nose a sluice across the room
You part the waves of people and become a cube
Each cheek a concave where shadow becomes reality
Your ears place themselves edge-ways and bore holes
This is wood on a broomstick drinking amaretto
You make the room geometric
Everything will become grids before you
You are floating over the stool in pieces held with string
Span of catilage and tunnels of endless smoke and stars
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