Things I've been working on, unable to finish properly due to school/travel/work/etc.
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Moving rapidly from minimal prose to diary I’ve no rhythm and can’t dance, I stand to the side of the milonga while they tango under the glow of antiquity.
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Voices rise and fall in the centre of the square stop, break see your breath pause in the crosshairs of the call to prayer.
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Think of breathing; think where sounds are made where tongue hits teeth, infant noises. I roll the tongue and throw letters to the back of my throat with enthusiasm.
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