Wake, Sleepers

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Wake, Sleepers


Regarding the leveled charge of being 

half-awake, I take what appears

the stand and mutter a soft


guilty that slips through my hands

like something not unlike blood 

or butter. To the ensuing one 


of being okay with it I smear them 

with a scream of innocent, innocent, 

innocent till it swells the open 


orifice of their ears and their faces 

melt as I sit up in bed, drenched 

at last in real, salty sweat.

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