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Friday, May 23, 2014

Venom

things pulse beneath my skin
things that are foreign to me
things that repel me
my elbow juts out like a broken doll
my bicep tenses
the fingers are mine, and then not
they clutch at air and crawl along the desk
knuckles lurching into the air
my mercy is too uncoordinated to reach the letter opener
so is my brain
it can wait
or rather, continue to

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