Turncoat Erotica after Kurt Weston’s Reticulation I swallowed broken glass to get here. [Here is subjective.] What I mean is I rubbed vaseline over my torso and scraped myself along asphalt to forget you. After that I was pebbled, gelid, licked. I can breathe under water; love me. Anhedonia The sun lowers itself through a chemical cloudstack faster than my rate of breathing. Light drips across the mouths of angel statues. Sloughs off the backs of dead war heroes.
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