The politics
of doxxing. The atomic
option for the lucky clover. The
lonely bruise you try not to lose. The rag as it covers
your brittling bones. The right to loan
whatever’s left
to you, dear reader. The fleeting firsts for the forking
of the tongues. The love of the clubs
when there’s dubbed
manifestos. Isn’t that Bizzaro
on the masthead? Every little thing
you do is law magic. Question mark
over by the empty park.
Rubber mallets for your knees
please don’t hide cards
in my shoes i need them to burn full
velvet, silk, &
satin. It burns a monosyllabic
path through my vocabulary
quiz written as a multiple-choice choose-
your-own downfall windfall against
opportunity. Neither brawn
nor brain, I’ve got a partner
in nobody & nobody’s ever
thought to wonder
why I wander
when I meant
to make amends.
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