Cento from Sir! Issue 2

Without will, there is no
time & axis, the flock

littler than I am.
Throbbing like the throat of a bird,

I know he puts his hand somewhere
that can never be found,

in a different neighborhood.
Don't fear repetition.

Remember what he made --
the ground looks strange. Like fields of white;

like nothing had happened.
In the future

we found them again,
saying it's over.

A surprise of sand & wind --
of all the unifying elements in a best friend's camera.

Even if we feel
I know my name at last,

the rain was getting in
& you will come out.

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