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There’s time in oil and time in dirt. More time in oil or in dirt?

(Washing it off. Burning it off.)

More time in sunlight or in sunburn? (Peeling it off.)

More time in our conversations with the living or recordings of the dead?

Cross from one side to the other.

There’s time in waves, in the froth of the waves, rolling unseen currents of the deep.

More time in waves, in froth (as it disperses), or distilled in cold black depths?

We shall turn and look.

Q: What happens in an instant?

A: The heart shot through and through.

Corazon de Jose Leon Toral atravesado por una bala, 1928.

This picture comes into our hands because even underwater or in regular daylight when things are rippling, the solution is the notion of the heart shot through and through [“Corazon de Jose de Leon Toral, Cara anterior/ Cara posterior”], Mexican lead (“plomo”) caught in drafty history by John Reed’s books, fishy in the best sense, when your hands come away from the text inked with oceanic reek of cycles of years, and crossing in a crosswalk, everything in waves.

1. Time as a card, flat like that.

2. Shut.

3. Somebody can’t do something.

4. Then,

5. Somebody does it.

6. Or,

7. Nobody is trying to do anything.

8. Number eight.

9. The chiles growing.

10. Tomatoes.

11. Your own shadow.

12. And,

13. Chocolate while the ‘elite’ is ripping everyone off,

14. While the killers are raping the women they kidnapped, girls,

15. Then some riots and stuff,

16. Fires,

17. Ana Mendieta (thrown out of a window?),

18. After that, how much time has passed?

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