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1 " I might have said you'll pay for the wild & reckless hour, pay in the currency of sweat and shiver, the future squandered, the course of years reconfigured, relinquishment socomplete it's more utter than any falling in love. Fallinginstead in flames, burning tiles spiraling to litter the courtyards of countless places that will never be yours, the fingerprints, tossed gloves & glittering costumes, flaredcornices & parapets, shattering panes, smoked outor streaked with embers, the tinder of spools, such a savage conflagration, stupid edge-game, the way junkies tempt death, over & over again, toy with it. I might havetold you that. Everything you ever meant to be, pfft,out the window in sulphured matchlight, slow tinder & strike, possession purely ardent as worship & the scream working its way out of your bones, demolition of wall & strutwithin until you’re stark animal need. That islove, isn’t it? Everything you meant to be falls away so you dwell within a perfect singularity, a kind of saint. "
― Lynda Hull , The Only World: Poems