Disintegrating Ode to Ian Curtis
If you begin by zeroing in on the rings around his eyes if you
turn your head like all those turned-on before you gleaming up
like sweaty moons bobbing on their axes & if you follow
the smoke leaking out his ears hanging off his tongue my bet
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Panic Attack in C Minor
All morning I’ve been building to a blubby sticky chord.
This would explain the footprints, I thought
someone was following & every time I turned they
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Disintegrating Ode for a Nightingale
A blizzard a figure inside it I mistook it for a nightingale
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