I was a slide of sting, the wasps
caught under the dixie
cup made it jump. I caught two.
That summer colds opened
my throat to a new series of raw
and my head bricked up like Poe.
In Philadelphia any long walk
includes the contemplation of beauty
in the halo of decay.
Train, train, pomegranate.
Septa to the underworld never
includes a map back.
Just, just the abdominal seeds.
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