Tired of being found cold it was during a heat wave & I

A concert at which there were no white men 

If not like that with force and multiple or not at all &

Then her grandmother’s white shell necklace broke on stage & was felt 

Hotter now than Egypt & burning into straw

The streets scorched a few days like this every time there has been before 

A comfort 

Promise it will not be in our lifetimes that it turns to fire 

Promise it will be a forgetting in some few years that we have felt like that before 

This nothing new under the waiting around for it 

An afternoon if I can’t put it into 

The wall a panel with the white light coming in anyway from underneath around the 

shade beneath which you are typing on your stomach 

Into the sky with nothing nothing nothing in it 

None of it original 

A concert

A black swallow way up high 

Nectar of beauty no it was gardens 

Gardens of beauty on the table

In the gardens what was said there in the most convicted repetitions of convention 

At least until the next age if it holds we want to until the next a hot white light & will be

  a more just one

Burning transparent all the way up to the top where the workers 

Rise into a general collective of all they wouldn’t offer

 
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