outside the walls of Octatillo................ The doorbell rang.
too many coats of varnish........It always played the same tune.
white bandages.........
the holes that the woodpeckers made............On the doorstep was the curator
preoccupied with the application........carrying a black plastic briefcase
brown grass on the hills...from which many papers protruded.
the holes in the cactus........I walked him through the house,
a glass of beer............opened the sliding glass doors,
tried to touch them......... ........................pointed to Marlin's studio.
the words that were written in the painting.... continually unable to connect to its provider....... like an animal that hadn't eaten for several days........ in search of the missing components......... always a hot day in Arizona........ strewing meat and sauce in a wide circle........ the endless aisles of Home Depot........ the smell of the leather couch........ I could almost feel his hands..................... hand carved napkin rings......................... sopapillas...................... mustard colored tiles............... the long walk into town.................. the sound that the lizards made..............

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