Sometime deep in a January night, 2001, Fairfax, Los Angeles

Every thing here touches every other thing, so that vision becomes not discernment but a crust and you and I, face to face under the fluorescent leaves at Canters, become stone. Stone with the vinyl seat, the terrazzo, our feet, our hips feet apart, our eyes, your smirk my dimness are all stone and the Brownian motion in my throat feels so ecstatic that I cant bear to think of how still we are towards each other, my throat bombarding so hard back and fro like a fist in a clotted pipe, breaking away scales trying to push the stone table aside, trying to force the city to pieces give us places to slip between, so we don’t feel that stone is the way the city wants us to be, we don’t have to submit to the city.



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