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Milk


 
Cats

are nine tales

9.
 
 
 
9 lives. . .

each story

different

–but the same.

a pounded out

existence

–beat by beat–

a thrashing

of belief

–creed by creed—

and teacher

that ends

–as it’s wielded–

lessening

and letting

in blood.

Diss Belief


on shaky ground,

I skirt the sinkhole. . .

round and

round and

round

I run

edges crumbling

underfoot

–doors bangin’

house gone,

wind still

but not calm

–so still,

I only hear

that damned b*tch

Sue.

dopplering the past

(tense)

Sue.

Sue sighs.

(and she already had)

over again,

and I can’t believe–

won’t

C A N N O T

believe–

don’t

she

returned.

 

REMover


Muse

missing make-up,

–each character

imprints

hard.

Just woke up after too much whine–

hard.

and in this Glare

of winter morning

edges

and

imperfections

show. . .

foundational nuance

a cake-y thing,

every tittle

a mascara blotch,

all emphasis

lined lip gaudy,

drawn clown-like outside of mouth

–the fire just

Rexall

rouge.

 

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