I don’t sleep anymore. And when I’m on the trainI look up the tall woman’sskirt and find an outletI don’t have the correctconnection to plug into.Man stares at somethinglong enough to kill it;he hunts for things not hisown, and, underserving,greedy for their teeth—their particular song, a luster—spoils just about everythingalong his way.  And the cargoes dark,…

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