At My Heels

wash up the wastrel & belly down. ghost sounds. like a pixel rocket! “they cannot hear the noise they have been making.” cowers in elysian neurofibrillary tangles. fertilized braille. 

disasters sag in the middle. “as if five years had thickened on their flesh.” as in: love-handles. pockmarked. as in: we need bigger tombstones. bigger trashbags. a squalor we can really dig into. 


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Click on each poem to continue to the next.


This issue features 7 poems.

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