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Nature morte

a mighty fish, laid out on newspaper,
a table of wood in a cottage in
normandy. quite still, quite warm - the air is
knitting woollen socks. you can touch him or
not, his silvery scales like endless rows
of notes in a cool symphony. his head
is off, if it weren't he could, assuming of course
that fish can read, peruse
what's printed above his dorsal fin
and giving him the prompt: "what are these people up to?"

the light withdraws discreetly, the paper
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