Woman, Machine, and Mausoleum Vines overtake her house. From the inside, she builds, increases the conservatory with raw red I-beams, replaces panes thickened at the base, grown brittle at the top, with limestone blocks. Mechanically inclined, medicine-taking woman with one hinged hip, unlinked from information, she fades from her clock dials like radium. Dirt's tracked in. Old seeds sprout. Decay measures time.

Catherine Daly

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