in which case dumb breathe

julius ferraro, poetry, associative

 

in which case dumb breathe
hanneyway? gramma is dying in
the hospital. i have to nakeys, no
hankeys, blankeys, nor frankes.
beetles crawling under doors for
ever they scout, together they
pout. the soil has such mildewey
freshness but the dirt has all the
good truth. crossbreeze. foot goes
across the floor. we make our own
patterns and make ourselves sick
with worry. in more goddamn sure,
as a maybe yeah, i hate.

 

 

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