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Oscar Oswald


is start. Stretch
its legacy thin
as the age of wood. No hostages.
Ornament, shaping up
to be shed from prehistory, flakes
and sheds its surface
for another: laughter, the lip
around the whale. This is not
to support havoc, havoc
is this,
supported. This again, this
theremin reaching ahead
like octagons and rectilinear
memory. I, organ, uncle
with nameless offspring, chandelier
floating in a lake.