Each Bound of the Fiery Paper

1 Who does me this I whistle off brazen as the green of the Palestinian flag Strange wishful little books clot my fur I do not labor except to season my domain Through seven holes all things twitter I reject the disjecta of allegory A sluttery roller skate grips my shoe 2 Is there enough chaos in you to make a world? The feather on the egg is the horse under the bed The New England winter is still raw and long The summer is intense and abandoned