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                we look at each other –
                along the promenade east or west –

                within packaging-design, with
                burnt-core contempt, or we don’t notice

                with open air-indifference; but
                we have exposed feet, we lift and swing

                and place and stay, transferring,
                in a thousand different ways, with

                unsettling hope where
                the thousand different toes tell a

                thousand different stories in a
                thousand different ways, all just

                waiting to be heard





air wormhole: birth in the world
compassion wormhole: skeins of candy pink and lilac
feet wormhole: pediment to behold
lifetimes & looking wormhole: I
others wormhole: so, how long is, a piece of string?
passing wormhole: Vue de Pontoise, 1873
promenade wormhole: amniotic avenue
walking wormhole: Hastings: neither all or nothing