A Random Dollop of Infinity

You woke in a morass of intricate Bernini curves –

a vast Baroque amalgam of discarded impulses –

the sort of thing Teresa would have been had she

not ever been to mass – orgasmically devoid

of Christianity – alloyed with unrepentance –

suffering the sentence of a judgment carried out

by something other than divinity. You seem to have

become, or ended up, another version of exactly

what you’d been – a random dollop of infinity. 












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