Zaroff

poetry

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poetry

Ideas of Marie salts the wound and hangs me on a meat hook in the shed out to cure
When she spurts her brine but your the shadow of a dream in their works hallway stairwell corridor on a Saturday evening
Kicking holes in virtual drywall
Incineration of one’s skies: Word in a sentence in my mind that was never really there
Hearts as falling regimes
Room 4033- flash of a parents death on the horizon
Collected pages of a fraying mind
Voices from the Kiln
Highway grotto
I took my door off the hinges
Cage the flora and fauna :i can still feel them crawling under my skin
Specialty fragments tucked, sniped, and beveled :how she digests and breaks down in my system
Quell me with a club like you do those baby seals
Lap me up as saucer’d milk
I conduct myself: call it wiggle room

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