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(after witchboy)

we sit in bars waiting for time. speaking in a foreign language they call normative because it is no longer safe to be here.

 

(a lover waits for death, across the other side)

 

Also:

 

there’s nothing left once the imaginary apocalypse is no longer a reflection of time and taty has since stopped with that stupid song.

 

(will you tell her i taught you to numb your body to pain?)

this morning a teary nun with hairy legs, opened my door with her nose to explain to him what lovers do when they can no longer grieve their exes.

 

(he says i should remind her to fetch her nails from under my bed but i want him to first stop these bloody toes from hanging from my ceiling).

 

 

 

Categories: Uncategorized

Neo Musangi

i like to think of myself as a stubborn non-human organism experiencing existential nightmares as though i were human. after numerous almost-failed attempts at long-form, i now call myself a poet (which i use as an excuse to be cynical about life).

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