[Response to: Why must the subway boil…]

Glowing in the underground for a report from those in costume. Ra this morning is green like fresh turtles of the estuary. I read in a newspaper on a bus to treat a fever diversely from accepted wisdom you suspend it in the eyes for a foreshortened totem. One syntax draws a line and another one hangs itself from it. Hung syntax on a wall of brick with forewarning. Pigeons walk jerkily around it and surmise.

There is a wall of books that Ra is standing on this morning by the lattice. For this reason he is so green and cheerful. He is filibustering his old digits in a can of worms. He has had the worms way too dear. The frogs will not jump for them. He is hoping to approach a pilgrimage to Luxor. When he steps from the books and into a wall of subway he takes the train to the end of the line. There he is painted in more green and subsides like a constellated fortress.


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