another

Water comes down to eliminate the pain of dissolution.
I would like to sell barbed wire to the angels
on the corner of Main and 5th, hiding my memories from strangers.
I like the windows I can look into, eternally unopened wine bottles
on the sills, I like to count how many psalms a blood cell could contain
until it develops destructive tendencies. There is always a choir
singing, barely audible, in another universe.

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