the compass is stuck;
direction destructs
petty for want of maintaining a precedent
the canopy smirks at argument
a verdant recess worthy of still-life
feet on new floors & the charms of an aleph
genesis in the occident
parenthesis of a continent
allegiant to the idea there is only a right place
eras inside themselves, unrepentantly effaced
I clutch my few, who stay with me like an aura
& tend the garden well, giving rime to the flora
the compass is stuck
the lamb is amok
the compass is stuck;
directions destruct
directions destruct
Benoit Pioulard
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