"The Forgotten and Fluctuations of Awareness"
When the crime
was committed,
the writing
was already on the wall,
no one listened.
It climbed insidiously
out through the cracks
like a friendly tarantula.
that sad poet
I read today,
she writes
of dry mascara.
poet destroyer
what point to apply
ink to windows, at all?
surely best kept clear
unadulterated.
so you are best prepared,
you...
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