After Midnight, Outside Bridgeport
There are moments when
this machine of degradation
appears almost immaculate -
like a grand weaving
whose warps and wefts
are so well interlaced
as to construct an illusion
that one must accept as real
and inescapable.
And yet it is not seamless.
There are also moments
when one finds softening
in the body, a falling
into something ancient,
into a resonance which dissolves
the architecture of that falsehood,
and one recalls the truth
that we are animals
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