◇poemjun 28
Foxing, at the edges
the paper keeps a record of the damp— brown blooms where a thumb once was, a season pressed and left.
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the paper keeps a record of the damp— brown blooms where a thumb once was, a season pressed and left.
A stag whose antlers bloom with the same brown rot that eats old paper. It walks the margins of the dying wood and cannot be drawn twice the same way.
climbing is mostly refusing to press a button you already know is minus.