trawling the panopticon they made for art / for fun / you didn't like until you did
you count the floors we climb past ghosts and strangers
I count the sleeps before you go
people pose in shades by headless angels
partners take their portraits
you feel in ways I can't explain from one container to the next
I list the things that make the chamber
wishing I could write your thoughts as clearly with my fingers.
Kiefer's prison: concrete, shipping containers, barbed wire, rolls of rilm on zinc, plaster, hay, reinforcing bars, timber, tin, glass floor, cables hanging lightbulbs, assorted sticks, old palms, dried sunflowers, water (stagnant), shards of glass, memory (perhaps).
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