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machines

Rachel


dear reader,


Sometimes when I weave

I see myself as an oil well


the one we watched wondering

what it would look like

if you shot it


whether the consistent movement

would translate


I see myself like that

standing with you

on a roadside

just outside Moab


I see myself as a consistent machine

standing with you



The feeling of ascension

The feeling of upgrading

The feeling of taking a step on a moving escalator going up


That’s the punch these weavings carry

and it’s all ours


how deeply can we exhale dear reader?

how can we be sure that’s all we've got?


with an outpouring into the equinox,

with hope,


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