#tbt (or poem for unfollowing)

In which this luminous companion broadcasts shovelfuls of shit across your barely conscious face. And memories like live munitions parade past open windows, demonstrations by deposed regimes who’ve taken up in new domains where they look like you with straighter teeth. An interrupted armistice of which the day is spent in wake— a trudge across the wilderness that waited past “he’s leaving” whose horizon is “he left” as you ponder the utility of body as weapon against itself, subsisting on superlatives and hired pharmaceuticals. What privilege to witness young love. How common to admit you’re lonely. How grisly to...

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