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Thursday, April 13, 2017

Sensory Deprivation Bat, 12

language never asked to be born but born asks for more  
wants to whisker
wants to failure boldly and be still so twixt lover's hands betreasured
wants suck the breath from every set of lungs in the room
wants cell division run amok
unruly wants dust wants cum wants everything wrong written and form forced into itself seams fraying sneaker soles scree-worn through a small kangaroo rat abandoned maimed squirming back legs still futile twitchkicking then rock mercy then hands filled with death sludge clumsy wants to witness what happens next wants to wheat paste promises on all the walls
wants more still 
who knows what's coming down the time filaments the future's copper pounds indebted to every birth
poetry might be a wind suddenly sparking your left-exposed wires to set the roof alight just might burn the whole thing damn down just might confirm doom just might keep a girl awake enough to not replicate the suburbs not exact might keep a girl cracked open enough to spill spit scrape leave a stain sure poems are proxy matter 
but watching the time lapse universe collapse projected on some sad ol' event horizon a plasma paused void inky and mistaken for empty won't be able to not start inscribing 

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