It was a warm September evening with feminist emotion.

Motion contracted.

The air was destroying the layer of the future.

We were still sand or gravel or stone slabs.

How could we speak or groan or scream?

We did not wish to disrupt their ceremonies.

We sought the ornament of moisture.

We needed to experience radical juice.

We played Roman games such as love, and change.
 
 
 

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Lisa Robertson