Read by Meghan Privitello
Depends on what dwindles (it all it all) depends on the assemblage how we move each other (we are people we are strangers) I don't want to know what that means. Some acts extinguish the dream (suitcases and shadow-plats and trotting eyes in heads) Beauty comes before we are familiar with it and less after (delight in anything that can move us from our spaces) sorely depending on light's fury. Your body is a place (sometimes a thousand places) depending on how it's sold, bought. I could love a man who never loved me back so long as he has a map (maps last a long time longer than we're lasting) The future is political (it is a naked girl) we wait to let it thrill us but it never comes. The dream is a free machine (the lever is one-winged) if we fly out we will dwindle. And for all that glowed and all we knew then (we wanted each word to contain fading) from across the cement we illuminate our history just to see where it starts (and where it went).