In the early hour of the morning I see the autumn leaves tickle my ear lobe

I am oddly specific in undoing and undoing the oddly specific

But lather




I have no heat to terminate the threat of existence that I undo in my wardrobe

Oh! Stalin and crackers

No one knows the throes that befill my angsty heart


Little juices and mindful numbness slither on out

I’m against it all

Just find somewhere safe to call home, I tell myself

And I keep on looking

I added a new post category, “practice”, and will be posting all practice writing poetry etc. under this category, to avoid confusion over what is an official publication and what is practice… if that means anything more than horseshit to you.

Good day.

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