Clay
you took my hand, / uninspired and unfeeling, / to touch the warm and wet flesh clay pit / where all vessels are formed,
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(on a night out with JK)
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(on a night out with JK 2)
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(Working on the eternal sadness)
Working on the eternal sadness, the stuff that cascades — avalanchine — every time I lift apen. It’s patient, really. In life, in walking, in sharing anything, (or certainly in this life) I control, internalize, and silence. Every morning I...
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