Fox wants to be the love of the rest of my life. Today the sky doesn't know what it wants. Sun or clouds? The wheeling birds or emptiness closer to white than blue? Rainbows or the moon? Last night there was a lunar eclipse, which I didn't see; I was reading about dialectical images, aesthetics and anesthetics, the angel of history. Bloody-eyed full moon, in the sign of the Archer, the ardent hunter.

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