Originally composed as text messages sent to random phone numbers. 

From: Justin Andrews


In this expectant, still exclaim receive
The secret oar and petals of all love.
-Hart Crane


02:17  25Apr

It’s  a  time of   doing  business, the
mango   groves  have  seized  their
blossoms and closed up the mango
shop. Shipshape or chop-chop is the
choice faced by the herders of broken
bodies.  When  the   cactus   blooms
on  this  island and   the  petals  drift
out on the sea the nettles are there
for  no reason. Stinging is  left  to the
jellyfish—they wrap up the flotsam as
a matter of their aimless  path.  Much
ado to do  what it takes, as if ‘it’ were
what we were born with.

16:03  26Apr

Salt bath in the stuck rut and dropsy
lost  the turvy.  The  walls  grow thin,
leak   into   legs,  lungs,   the   spaces
surrounding the meat. A body like a
freezer  defrosting, like  a burnt  out
house  in  the  rain.  Insert  here  our
domestic St. Crispin’s Day speech, but
add the water drop that scans its prism
as you circle around the blade of grass
it clings to.

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