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Don’t you have a map?
A collaborative, traveling essay in letters
‘twixt Erika Howsare & Jen Tynes.
Part 13, E to J-
Under a space is basic blackout, pattern tread on me, don’t dust.
When you look down through floorboards, pillar hallway room of chalk, you’re under and you see the sun in strips.
Five fingers stretch all at once: pentagon, right there.
A contrast shows you how to use a key.
A form is layered but to get to the bottom might mean going outside.
A little candy you crush used to be electric, now is reset.
The furthest part of the bottom layer would be right underneath where you easily stand and look down all the time.
A bird of deep woods spotted in an open field.
Going in is hard if it’s low, and a snake had gone there to die.
Boots its own self downhill.
Or if someone had tucked her in—not the snake—buttoned without a fingering, she goes upstairs and hits a dead end.
The forms made the wall but if they are left to touch the ground they would break it all down, chewing, spitting gum.
Bleeding on the heater.
Her clothes off, then on, then back off again.
Sprinkles he comes to sprinkle to help.
Her underlayer further away.
Blue and a chunk of it when claiming a rubber seat; we faced a set of windows and flipped.
Looking at the bird with glasses that take you closer, or goggles that steam as you enter and crawl.
A Bird Could Dive Ennywhere.
Practice that same outline repeatedly.
The bird’s bottom layer is its food; its top layer is its call.
Tomorrow you would stand on top of the whole form and pry it apart.
J responds to E when and where she feels it in her bones.
Please visit http://www.horselesspress.com/amap.html for the whole hog.
Email Erika & Jen: editors AT horselesspress DOT com.
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