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tape was sticking me together to her.
it was of the masking sort. the blandish tan or yellow white purity lunging
me forward from my responsibility. the kind you could move in, but would
rather not do so. it's arms holding and squeezing around the box that
is you, and after, with postage and address labels, you could visit the
surrounding countryside.
her family nice and hospitable.
favoring.
traditional.
being from duct tape i found it rather unsturdy and often worried about
it's eternality.
and i was right to.
contents spilled over, right side was not always kept up, waters soon
began to consume the box, cardboard, and loosen the resins and glues.
all things must clog in time. our packages cannot avoid damage.
ups is our delivery after all. boxes handling boxes.
and so the world's transit of moving information and material, the
human world's means of migration, unstuck the stuck and set me moving
on separate conveyors and trucks to hangers and barges.
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