in useless stream of useless stream
echo-y body of bright red raw
in hopeless handful in sugar slump
what dust is this, what awful string
in a wood world, in a corked up naught
I think there is something hidden
in my stomach, my heart, my blood
I think it has teeth as fine as flour
in a face like a crescent moon
I think that it's peeking through my pores
in a moment of shocked dismay
what arms are these with petal hands
awash in a bucket of beer
beautiful
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