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KEVIN GILLAM pitchless sleep cut out untidy, you've named your shop after your loss. you call it that, your shop, shelves of yearning and fret, no stocktakes. addiction, smouldering off his tongue, slick on ear, so addictive. you in your 12 bar hubris, all too hooked on the lean of seventh chords, folding semitones. the only money in sadness is strummed. from beyond the fence, your voice and one crow, pitchless