Thrillish dark, someone home says, essays in aggravation gas pinto foams. The forms that walking home at night take on stitch willful hairy spiders wrangling on trees, at the end of each naked sleeping branch. You who walk shoeless through each cupped stall and spill of streetlights yellow icing in islands on the road. You're dead, but only in a subjunctive case. Grounds for a backlit intimacy saturate vagrant mexican torture beefs, salted but essentially hanging flipside splashed. Collar a taxi home and then color ataxia hummed.
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