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Jonestown: More Eyes for Jadwiga's Dream After Rousseau Brighter than crisp new money. Birds unfold wings into nervous fans, adrift like breath-drawn kites, among tremulous fronds with flowers crimson as muzzle flash. Tropic silk, root color, ocean green, they float to tree limbs like weary scarves. Hidden eyes deepen the memory between sunrise & nightmare. Pine-box builders grin with the pale soothsayer presiding over this end of songs. The day's a thick hive of foliage, not the moss grief deposits on damp stones-we're unable to tell where fiction bleeds into' the real. Some unspoken voice, small as a lizard's, is trying to obey the trees. Green birds flare up behind church bells against the heartscape: if only they'd fold their crepe-paper wings over bruised eyes & see nothing but night in their brains. LI5 from I Apologize for the Eyes in My Head ...

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