Charles Henri Ford

because on the third day he rose again with his compassion blasted like the years cornplants and watermelon vines and his heart like a grindstone to the fingers of his people. if they moved they moved slowly with the movement caused by decay the rhythmic worms by the earth that had always claimed them even before the buzzards left for newer sweeter corpses. you in new york can know your mouth with the saliva in it rancid with hatred but it is not always so and you do not choke on the seeds of the apples that you eat and when your heels tap on the pavement it is not as if your own heart were spiked. winter there is unbelievably cold and your breath is many streamers when you walk and when you walk the tracks made by your feet in fresh snow can be read like words when you leave them under lampposts in parks or on corners. what happens there is monstrously beautiful and when there are lovers t b y are not like lovers elsewhere and when there are not lovers it does matter whether you put b

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