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68 6 (The Metaphor of Impressionism) Rather than the usual projection into road or path, this daylight retracts to its step, its spot short of direction; not mossy still meditation set in green flooring, a plain of stones each its own horizon spilling into the dark cycling between. The fierce push the spot creates appearing and disappearing as step each step taken, a random blink for footing: day not stone. An unrest dabs us on this instant of light, not balance, not dance; the light’s paver forward, then next day, back; the leap from side to side the leg rays of the shine puppeted betraying the star breaking up through the leaves, the clouds overhead. Like wind, we have no haloed shadow dappling the ground. 69 vi your skin is always in variation in iridescence even with your own you don’t blend in even if everything else boringly does you have the accent you can dress in tune with your color as something you already have on a basic black yet your color changes with the color complement you frame it in it’s the armor the color forces in defense against the racism it draws the stiffness of the skin the hardened weight of nothing there but light and perception not even the fact of wave length and point you want everyone’s boiling points made (out) of your skin burned out of your skin, it’s the armor, not the color, you want to remove ...

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