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a clipblog collecting blogged thoughts on visual poetry

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

A Collaboration of Visual Poets

via ahadada books

There's a host in "ghost" but the "h" is silent. He lived in the same building with us, on the floor above. The (g)host occupied his time by occupying the building. His hemorrhaging was indicative of everything going on upstream. The hourglass sand dripped from his brain, diffusing and lining his esophagus.


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