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Aby Kaupang

my Thou is the bloom of my mouth|my rib is afloat in fen

 

I blooming ever more gravely

blooms before you

 

so the furrow of origin

turns under    plumes

 

a bride  when the bluffs are plucked 

is pulled from the rib of man’s side

 

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I am that bird

I’m drawn from your rib

your side is a flung wide ridge

 

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where is origin?  where heat

or blade or ruse of exaggeration?

 

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my Thou is the dithering of ridges flung open

my Thou is a stasis of incomprehensible approach

my Thou is for whom the talus ascends

 

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dusking sheets loom over a pastel cliff

cactus    columbine   scree   in a flourish

one could almost loose a life

 

my Thou is a tender uproot

 

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when the buttes are lifting up

and the field of origins slips under

 

come Thou

 

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come Bride

 

or {come} bird waters

or just flay it out

 

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my rib is afloat in fen

 

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my Thou you’re the bloom of my mouth

 

 

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