We lean out in favour of worn order, horseflies and mosquitoes. Semblance makes syntax with the others, a sham of consent. Small language is noisy and translucent. 

Along old barriers, it is one or many. Desire to flatten displaces in a swarm of its own kind. We contain what isn’t, avoiding registers and the natural course. Our dirt is to follow and rub between. 

Maybe this mouth contains a machine of closing. Our one spasm suffices to pile, switching places, especially below. Of this same apparition, we are even fewer among.

Orbits reconsider, swallow a storehouse of ragged things. This air isn’t with flesh, exiled in every way. Scattering over and through, our position is null and lacking separation. 

from USES OF MOUTH (NEW AND OLD) in Otoliths 49, May, 2018 

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