From the UPD agglo, December 2016

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Fog tooth at gargle height,

carved light vortices,

Opaque stockinged horizon,

Brustmass Besteintes,

Breath hole under pack ice.

(22.12.16)

A table. A newspaper. a plastic cup.

And the artfully paneled armchairs, black and with a solid back,

three times as high as a well-grown human back.

Sometimes someone sits in there and ponders a thought,

too informal, too weak, then breaks off!

The face, tiny and pale, a raw egg, the spine stretched,

the shoulders from the overwhelming weight of that chair

bruised, the short ones, bare legs, under the cold leather foot

pushed to the lint.

(the chairs of the mental health services, 14.12.16)

 

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