Matthew Johnstone
from Isthmus
The occasion is selling off the color from my teeth, dents, against, region, all to hum, against the oilfire, snarls a bit, each make each made killer of veins, because organ. Because oilskin. Because glare was what I was, at, with all, the reformations.

Chamber thrown up vacation, injuries foam the harpoon, sure, the scaffolds recede from under parades of tasks, our cut blank coins bought leer, when city hum verticals, seem to javelin up the rotted salty anemone. Obscured, if. Brusque, gone to plant tar, gone, to suck black sheets, gone to fur at my own curvature. Gone oscillating clean pieces, little accusations, arranged off narrow territories rearrangements, englishes, namespaces collapsed too, under.

There is no deadening of contrasts, making, vast nors, we configure deliberate vacancy for, a gnawing heat work, stomachs, shaking your teeth at the sun. Arrow, from wherever I stacked my own shade, empties me of me onto, arrows the dissuasion of you here, pistol shallows, pistol heaps.

Addict toward, same, then what near plagues. Tore brogues out, past that still does by which not, shrieks over, still, grouped, far long to heard mouths tighten beak, having in us, rest, these certaining else, not histories.

Impermanent but, reformation is a permanence spent, injury kept to me, seconds of mood, lacquer front. Pulling out the siren, baffled, among, the arcs really side, not elevations, ceaseless so cannot be said to happen, the railing out, with, the unembedded, is onto, is indirect with agreed presence, of some flightless.

Spires veil the house hospital, severals, the center, to a dancing port, well, beyond a closing persists ahead of you, tusking cave breath, to acquire a complex weight by violation. Feverer, if factory can put out, staggerers away from. Not, maybe, sympathetic, tar, boroughs, of us, dedicated to these collapsed fragments.