You're an Aetheist and a Cynic
You're a Fraid is what you are
of things without definition
the Figments and Atoms on par
she comes in
the room shaking her
like a lighter near spare of butane
pressed in the dirty fingers
of an anxious addict
her polycotton blouse
emitting a clouded tea of
bathroom floor
and sweat you saw
baste this dress
the day before .
her subservient eyes
and armpits
put to shame
what coats the crevaces
of her brain














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