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Lucida, obscura, snow. Battery of wind/six hours till dawn/long ellipsis/hand restless & onanistic night & nothing any fool can do. Stained I do not know if you are sleeping. To make a fetish to suffice: exhausting. Bottle seeds, room keys, wings of things I’ve sworn to never hurt yet when I sleep there’s something maned there. Roar. A pubic hair for my locket, a snowstorm for my door & my dears, I’ve lost too much. Let pink be the color of friction. Let haunting be the sum of touch.
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in your carpeted office you lay my life down / and say open up to that small room in my sternum.
In his new book, the former Fed chair cuts through economic orthodoxy on central banking. But he fails to reckon deeply with its political consequences.