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a goodbye to most doors at first upon waking up from the American coma, the light hurt my eyes & my body so badly I thought I was giving birth. then it became warm & comforting despite the tension that comes with sitting close to a fire like the tranquility in a spider's legs when it realizes intuitively that it is dangerous & remains momentarily still fragile body built confidently around it's poison I was walking through a supermarket or drifting out of my body during sex when an angelic arrow pierced through me as quietly as a venereal disease I was blowing a flattened trumpet inside all the hollow trees reinvigorating dead leaves to rejoin branches suncracked & lifeless & blossom impossibly in the dark me, a man, giving birth? the doctors weren't incredulous but I could see their anger through their sanitary masks like a butterfly bursting from a silver cocoon hidden on the underside of a toilet's rim floating away on a visible scented gust of unflushed shit, something iridescent & formless was born from me against the glossy technobones of hospital off-white never captured on any canvas but staying in the colorless world's bedroom long enough to prove that seeing its exotic colors isn't enough to pull new alien vents from the indigestive innards of the spectators their skin becomes burst pores that are labyrinth entrances leading to rollercoaster nerves a yawn halfway out of the mouth turning to a witless scream of terror as god digs in with his plastic silverware gleaning the best part of you from your ribcage left on a stranger's impossibly large plate the whiteness of which insults the levitating rich redness of your servant blood when I died everyone I knew was in love.
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