the latest poem does not have a title.
in a heavenly field trimmed
and rimmed in gold,
st bartholomeu slunes(?) in
a reddish light -- his halo
burning through the muscle
and corpuscle(?). bartholomeu's
tendons stretch along his
arm and the sinew holds
each finger around his
shin, clutched in his
own fist. helt aloft in glassy(?),
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