in response to Sandy's poem, 'Awakening'.
by Amanda Deutch
Speaking of air
filth of the night
something barely discernable to the eye
soaked in duplex and pearl
one must ask oneself sometimes
“Why do I insist on staying awake?”
It is simply that—an insistence.
reflection in the métro
mistake it for someone else
wave
dirt under your eyes (lids)
eyes’ lids
and yet more staircases
maison de l’air
house of air
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