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Planet in Peril

Poemish of the Wildland

Ouse

Lugano

There is something necessary in the touch of your hand, the dream of cellular dust, debris…

Elsewhere stars collapse and flare, burn into black holes

As if the speed of light might be opened like a fact, sprinkled into black coffee

He knows its electricity that animates nerves, the ventricles of the brain, muscles, limbs

He has passed an arc through the conduit of his ear, felt the jolt of fluid against the bone of his skull
