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25 The Watch It’s such a disrupted life, you dying, me cooking more than you can possibly eat. You’re turning whiter, the light is beginning to show through your skin, the glow cancer makes as it burns up the body from within. When I’m close to you and your mouth opens to speak, I smell the combustion. I don’t know the pain no matter how simple your description. Where do you stretch on the scale between now and the end of your life? What is the function of endurance? I imagine you in your place of business, alone, overtaken by fatigue. Like a night guard in the citadel. Fighting to stay awake. This time you fight off the ghosts who want you to live out the past with them. You come home, lie down, sink quickly into a deep untroubled sleep. Once I described you with metaphoric pockets full of seeds. Once I described you as young, blushing. I’ve described you remote, stubborn, addictive. I always left the bite in. I didn’t want to forget the bite that would then let me sneak in the sweetness. Sleep. This is my watch. ...

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