THIS POET CANNOT NOT THINK ABOUT IT

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… it will be short, it promises. It reads, any version of the human is haunted by a disavowed loss, and no version of the human can fully overcome this disavowel. The total liquidation of the social and the subject and its environment and its completion is not fully complete. It is why I continue to write.

Why do you sound so bitter, it asks.

It is exhausted and waiting for the right opportunity to move.

Sure, but it is also fortified, not unlike a castle, not quite breaking the bonds on any holistic scale.

Well, can you relate to it while kept at a distance.

I hear the sound, not of loose change, but dollar bills. The poet, summoned off the streets, stricken by the privileges of civil society.

Why is he begging …