On a single branch I pulled up my hands to my face and kept balance. Coyness
in destruction, the stillness of everything. In my house I am parallel to
air. The soft leaves mix in my mouth with a metallic bleeding taste.

From up above he spit down on me with a particolored confetti. As I crossed
the street, rain. What body do I have by my gender? Excuse my interest in
this. The line or circle of sight poured out on me.

The markings fell out of me. I could not keep up while trying to make
division by what I could see. This all permeated my skin. Like white sand,
I tried to set out a circumscribed yard of the sightings.


Elizabeth Robinson

read the author's Bio and Working Notes

go to : Tree, Forest, Lesbia's Sparrows, Easter Woman or Electrical Things

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