I kept these papers for a reason
for when the circus disc slipped
and jarred somewhere in that lost space
between my heart and my tongue

and everything vibrates in that negativity
as if a lightning powered plastic rabbit
drills into me
like those things they use to break concrete
into manageable pieces

they say instability thrives in moonlight
but i prefer the streetlamps
for these hours
their sci-fi yolks that gathers the dead skin
of citizens
growing dim as they crack
under timed glares

i cracked then
hiding from the silver swamp
with the man who spun discs
and i scribbled madness
on this paper
on the other side
that i kept
for when the claws
would bleed scribbles
into my blood
and scratch them into reality
when i was pretending to be new

we all have marks and designs
between my legs
are years of cave-drawings

imprints teasingly close
and begging to be touched
even when the page is turned


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