4 Sep 2013, 1:06pm
Writing
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Why not erasure, why longing

Digital also, say you are in last year and cocking a knife/
not-gun, waiting for your rant/
not-liquor, waiting to get soberer and soberer.

Is there something you could use inside you?
What would you call it, obsidian?
A lesion/pool/cancer. I love the way you spell cancer

and mean something else. I have a cancer sore.
Here, come taste it. My mouth feels almost strange
enough, as if you’d slapped me already.

I will not be the butt-end of your handle.
I will carry a flint, a firestarter,
and it will be in my pocket.

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