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In the big blue buildings.

It is the new season again, the neighbors are eating heartily, their plump bodies glowing in faultless white bathrooms. The year begins in a field of theory, a deep sense of physical well-being immersed in a system of instants. Recovery settles over us like a law of physics as masses of particles penetrate the fragrant weight of these white men in their black space. There is no sleep any more, only the sitting and forgetting of all things. Gold balloons blanket our disbelief. You sit home infected and angry, waiting to hear about the audition. The women may be disembodied, the men prone to primitive mercy, yet the mystique of sacred love spreads from cafe to cafe.
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Author:Winch, Terence
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Date:Jul 1, 1993
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