this slipper, this. a granite block
of a foot comes

forage through your notions
like hunger was a motive

for thinking.
the streets are lined

more carts steam there
licked by the sun.

i’m no portal for quick slaps
i’m no kin of regular projects
i’m no yore written pamphlet

you can kitten the most vicious land
sliding your back up and down

my fortnight for your jumping jack
my whippet for your ground jaw

a lack in statistics, a growl


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