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Sidereal Messengers In skyscraper grasses — the insect eyes, numbers I cannot gather into a number — world I am nature to. Anglers at my mouth, I am disappearing even now, abandoned toy useless in the weeds: What patrol cars find in the wake of a violent crime — a man behind Safeway with a knowledge too certain, helicopters chopping the air into sound bites — And the grassy-haired, green-eyed shock of joy I would die for . . . Bumper-sticker adage to . . . dim for, curl into the loosening place of skin and flowerbeds and sleep — vehicle, subject of rational forces, the dehumanized face — millions of faces: Ladybugs rising from picnics in the grass. Ladybugs abducted by the whim of convection currents, hot air rising — adherence to the laws — passionate wings, 31 a five hundred mile vacuum suck into the Sierra Nevada. They settle down in a slumber party, a tower of sexual somnambulism — that treasure of, that black-suited void, with its department of planets, its insect subsidiaries — children of urgent traffic — engining into June and stars at the tip of nobody’s tongue. 32 ...

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