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bit nervous to the dried-out basil

plant’s tremble, a thick stream

from the tap after the away

festivities, speckled glass a mirror

on your responsible life. no

expectations under the nipple-

height shower head, your non-

adjustable responses weirdly

irreducible, silly even, the

magnetised bitchaz framed

riverside by your coccyx. not

out of the picture but dead

center of a decade, atop

the water-tower working

images into lies & i mean:

you sweep aside some iris-like

leaves, deftly frozen green.

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