Exhibit 3.5

Some of my favorite lines from Christian Hawkey's Citizen Of:

They have invented this machine to extract/glass from the lips of strangers/which is precisely what we are/although the fear of breathing/brings us within inches of each other’s face.

Who utters/the phrase transparent gutter/& stands back as a tube of rain/slides horizontally/across the sky/with nowhere to go but/clouds, one by one

O where/in these kingdoms red with the clay of sunsets/pasted onto our brows/& these wires threaded with copper/listening to our every desire as if it were a need/can I rest with my blue triangle and maybe, if the light is right,/place my heart inside it, a soft cloud.

It is spring. No one’s around./White dandelions/bloom the shape of a woman’s body./With a little wind, she moves—she migrates.

It was a gate./I was hungry for it to transform me,/moving through it, but it didn’t/it just opened, & so I sat down/within it, holding either side of it/&it didn’t seem to mind it.