Day Eight. To Measure.

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As if water could be chewed. I live this way, of an indecent measure, of improper terms, of things that happen while I see them happening, pierced with joy from being there and from derelicts, from clouds of sugar and from a walking hunger. From the hope left everywhere and from the cynicism fate decides to ignore it with. To survive myself, probably. To survive God. And the whole America.