One Day Alexandre Ferrere
“This is where I ache” she said pointing at the gut ted window. She wanders in her own garden; the Gate is burning—remembering dismembering what stood here once. () Tear as thick as mercury as hopeless as mercury as distant as Mercury. (Together: that was be
fore.)
She woke up one summer—she ate a cherry that was rotten, sweating love—égarée. First, the rancid fruit took her words away. Then the music of birds faded. Asphyxie. [(r)evolve | re-love] The sun cut the clouds against the white light & she sat & she knew without knowing. She thought again: “my first gasp of air when I was born was a cry—I’m being born again, all the time.”
Now the marble under her flesh ripples & she hollers at the crowd, protesting her bro ken ribs
& he
art.
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