from Hail Gazers #3
I used to have a drinking problem: I always ran out before I’d had enough. And I brought too much, and drank beyond the usefulness of alcohol—people getting drunk happily releasing as they go. I used to have a problem with unanimous. No day belonged to when I wasn’t really sure the Sun was not a Router— in a world built for fiction; I started off determined that this wasn’t Evolution but Addiction— people growing out of each other copious in starlit, through disaster, and audit, and economies borrowing and borrowing, for warmth, for wart removal, the environment, the burrows and bunkers and stations, colliders, soldiers, stalwart psychoanalytical conclusions made by leafy large windows about Pensions. I used to stand in lightning with a rod, a storm Chaser, a hail gazer in safety goggles, icy tic tacs loud in the mouth; I used to get my teeth bloody hot with the research of the habitats Conspiracy rabbits grew on people, ears and eyes tickled in radio...
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