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I Hear theName of theMoon and Am Afraid Squeals, groans, chirps and whistles like red birds pinched in the crotches of yews and their pollen song, beaks. Or window on rain,fire thorn tossed down by the instrument of his hand aloft, thumb letting go of the nape, apex a great height, noise like a body breaking on ground. Hiss, splatter pattern of wave, wire at the nadir holding the blood fan closed, blood fan open as red as a cardinal, an orange, the moon with her blushing face, liquid earphone static through hot bindings where I toss and listen to the breakup, earth forcing flesh into new shapes whir and chitter of arm raising, arm falling, this arm, her name. ii ...

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