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8egSong ... where geometry borders on dream, and where the duende wears a muse's mask for the eternal punishment of the great king. -Federico Garcia Lorca Foolhearted mindreader, help us see how the heart begs, how fangs of opprobrium possess our eyes. Truth serum: how the index finger works up into love, how the greased hand slides up the wombholler of madness & rebirth, whispering: Look, back of the eyes. Each gazes into its fish heart, final mirror of beauty & monkeyshine. Run your tongue along fear in the frontal lobe. Introduce us to that crazy man with his face buried in your hands. In the slack bed, meat falls through the door of itself. Soul of a lamp. Slipshod genius, show us the cutworm's silly heart, how the telescopic love-eye probes back to its genesis. N EON V ERN A. C U L A R ...

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