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Splintered whims


(BY: PLAT DU JOUR) A blind ant walking backwards, shadow playing solataire in a puddle, smoke sprinkling brine, ah, it’s mardi gras again in my brains.
two drops of venom
heal my lingering wounds
another wonder drug for my delusions

a barrel of tears
i cry for the twins i planted
in a ball of fire; it’s my first
attempt at creation
too sad, it exceeds the wit of

i fantasize everything about
a scepter; it makes me 
a pauper-king

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