perched on the curve or
delicately telling of
bitterness
all my splint - filled mind glints of
is a scissor exclamation
of spindly places where the corners are vivid
like the corners of a paper airplane
that sizzle through the dense air
and all i want is a cigarette
just to be paper perched on the curve of or
gesturing about the postulating
bitterness
O my soul i hope you remember more then
a a spider with small feet feathers
spinning sideways flint with
different
places
my left foot could balance the slate slipping beneath by breathe
beaten by cigarettes perched on the curve of or
internally harvesting with cut nails the ever impending
bitterness
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