This soup is.
Nothing else.
This soup
so, this recipe, this scent, these proportions
somewhat spicy at times
-that is the cost of heat
that nests, selfish,
chest-beating and makes
apace
aft
walk down the street is always illuminated
by the sun or the lights of the human world
-carousel-
rundown
and inside me I'm always crying
or fighting or missing someone
moving away this environment
I eat like everyone around me
here at the same party
happy and raspy as I
attending short
improvements or expiration unwavering
all, all, without mercy,
barely contained by this hard
placenta
in which each gives his fight
and best baby face
the toy of the civilized world and its
alienation
see you in that broth
die a thousand times there
things begin to birth
grows only
as joy
not grown
barely taste, I admit
clear, heat, throbbing
soft warm chin
where I hide
face
and devoutly cherish
plankton light ... Oh what
No pincer squeeze me "that"
this moisture occurs only
wind mill and lakes
microscopic halos
smoking
Behind this fat
the past lives with you, future
no future I can break
gold rope light
are my treasure,
persists
03/12/1911
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