Telehuman

The dissolution you are seeking      such milk
When the wind is here         its hands everywhere
The cobra has a hood
The owl is a night bellman
The moon sifts a dust onto dragon-tiled roofs
Up and down this street       the televisions blow
The wind is ridiculously strong
It might as well be Mongolia
You cannot walk out the front door
Without waking up       You’ve been here before
Your name is the thing you forget
When you are alive       The dead
Are the ones who say their names
over and over      like a memory problem

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