In the misery-chasm of the mind, a snowmist blossom is a charity-blessing. I see my future; obese church-beggar, knotted hair fallen into blind courtyards. Tampons, dressings bathe bloody scalpels, a dog suckles two white lambs; a shrill reality in the dream, a nameless open wound is their existence. Far fire. Troops of ghosts are forever flowing slowly like a convoy of vans carrying meat in the wee hours. The dew in my palm mirrors a face. My aunt, porcelain-pale, lies lightly on the iron bed in the alms-hospital, eskimo soapstone-sculpture, translucid from bed-sores; I pick up your pea-memories dropped along the path, I learn your tattooed camp-number. The carrion- consuming wind howls --- My dead dog's mouth is shut. Human and beast, they are relatives in the agony. Barb-wired pines; terrible spring makes the sky tremble. On unbreakable roofs, the snow is a feast.
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