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Literature
the only time
i say baby there’s too much weakness
we bled god to death like a dried up felt-tip pen
it is time to find another excuse for our shortcomings
but when your gutter vessels shudder
under pockmarked blotter
it is guilt
underscored in red
-
this vibration
don’t
the sellotape the tear duct
the paper knife
the whip of risk the bodies at your feet
the every inherently senseless sacrifice
couldn’t satisfy this
-
i say there’s nothing to apologize for
but sometimes
the yellow in the sky feels dated
as i walk away
Literature
dear sacred, unnameable, unapproachable you
everything is interconnected.
-
on that rough patch of a slippery road
in the passenger seat i stared into the noise wall.
i knew then.
to carry this conviction in the purse
of my stomach like a leaden bullet.
there are ways to smuggle this
and make it out alive, i repeat.
she the catalyst,
empty bullet case
shifted gears and became a stranger.
you turn around and see
a wall of a slippery road.
one to zero,
limp neuron. and i believe
we all switch modes
but is it circular and are there ways back to foregroun
Literature
bataillon
je ne peux plus
fortifier
mon cœur de guerre
contre toi ;
tu es un mort
en miniature,
une petite exécution.
chaque fois que j’essaie
de regarder tes yeux
sans reculer,
je suis assassinée.
et tu me dis
“dans ce monde,
on est ou on suit.”
je suis.
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magnifique ! magnifique !