by Joshua Marie Wilkinson
 JMW and I are in, which is to say like sentences lay in a cabin floor with the ripe oranges and waterfalling Vienna. In which I am writing over the writing of disapearance. "I, I" time.
Wiggy in that I know every thing he emulates in the sentence, especially the ampersand self, the self of grapes and trains, the self apart from any italics loft, on the roof of this conversation about music with little Witt.
I am saying this in a movie moving teeth. I am saying this we are making a movie about Rachel praise in letter after letter. I am saying choir after choir in the line lapse.
Too new we are not. Two knew this strawberry shadow in as interesting a struggle.
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