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—56 Silent Film, Sound of Glass Orpheus falls through the movie mirror (a painted backdrop mirror stage) and wakes to find his face lying not in but on a pool of water which takes that face and gives it back, resembling but no longer his. He strays through unsurrendered night without a radio, tripping on the roadkill, branches, misplaced rocks, and other mythological debris: terrain where everything becomes inaccurate, stock postures of undergoing the world he knows too well how to assume. He’d been dreaming of questions between the minutes (between the frames), heroes dream of qualities, there’s nothing human there. Sea-winged, wind-infested, color of a muse. Voles crawl among the smashed transistors of the radio he hasn’t got, rejected metaphor stuck in the snow. Noon finds him defeated in place, curled against a whitewashed cardboard theory of his skim-milk skin (the content of “content” painted over), having swallowed all the maps: ink running from his half-closed lips, his fingers pointing everywhere. shepherd text-2.indd 56 11/22/10 2:07 PM ...

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