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       Flora Field is a poet from Oregon.



00:00 / 02:03

I tell Flora to perform time; she breathes in out in out fast until

her body disappears until the moon disappears until morning incessant

loathing and light dances into her window

When Flora told me she didn’t know how to be she meant she didn’t know how to stop

thinking how to stop feeling how to stop measuring things against each other

placing them above or below or beside and trying to determine which was best

Flora lies in her bed and stares at the pink and cream silks drifting on the floor

from the little winds outside the blue light looming behind

their silhouettes unbearably charming which is to say feminine and beautiful

Feminine and beautiful a delicate lament Flora smothers me with

She wants to know that things are put together well that the parts cohere

I’m not here to please Flora which isn’t to say that the self always has to be escaped from

I want Flora to just become and then to be

I want Flora to move everywhere all at once instead of arriving somewhere then staying

I want Flora to no longer want and instead to wait

Flora lies in her bed and stares at the pink and cream silks drifting on the floor

I ask her what she is waiting for such enormous passivity for a naked girl

She doesn’t answer tells me there isn’t enough room inside for me

There were many rooms I let Flora inside of I even bathed her every night

sometimes morning too sometimes Flora walked but whatever happened in the space

between the lying and the walking she and I never knew

Flora waits for me to tell her to get up but I watch her a reclining nude

Time stops touching her time heavy and warm pours around

her form but not onto it I cannot look away Flora waits

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