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   t a l k

--- M I C H A E L   M A G E E

for Ann Lauterbach You were interested, you said, in the gap between truth and reality. Fuck, I thought, I spent a lot of time last night closing that, and the hardware-store guy told me crazy-glue sticks like a sonovabitch, but if that didn't work he had clamps. Camps? No, clamps. Clamps, camps, whatever, what I was looking for was a name occuring at two different time-points -- I met Mangan. Later I met Mangan. Always to say much later, You've met Mangan, haven't you? Later: the possibility of a yes, a yeah, a yup, across two bodies, like the one we reach during dinner, you have begun to talk about Eve who gambles on the gap of dialogic space while Adam keeps screaming, You are Donkey, you Koala Bear, to things that don't speak (xy = xy, N -> ¥? Adam's faux chromosomal calculus) supping stew, over the table, our agitation sub-vocal in the throats' timbre, double timbals dis(sonance)cussing not Adam so much anymore, it's Mangan, he's late and that's so like him.

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