i've read you
and yet
all is calm(ing)
with the distant
roar of words
sweetening at the back
of my throat:
too hoarse
to speak
or summon saliva
from underground rivers
that so carefully avoid
veins and such
where eyeballs
lie so that
vaccuous stares
placate onlookers
and i feel
the ferrets
made of moonlight
burrow and finally
blast through
the surface
of my skin like
reversing comets,
and i feel
perfect.
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