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Zach's Thesis:
One cannot disinherit narrative,
neither the number
nor the pronoun.
Ask a mathematician, a linguist.
Sequence equals consequence.
PLASTIC MENAGERIE: 1989
You learn early that fireflies don’t bite, that insects that can’t make their own are attracted to light. My mother drowns a plastic, peanut butter jar in dishwater. With her nails, she flays the wolfish visage of its flakey fish-scale label. No bowl molds before soaking in her sink, though macaroni grows occasionally hairy, forgotten in the fridge. She slits the lid with squinty-eyes.
Zach, I also had a poem with Erato as the subject in my first volume of poety, entitled Sun Twist. My brow went wAY uP when I saw the title in your final draft. Keep the translation of your voice tuned and sound; it's a fine instrument which you've mastered.
Fabulous!
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