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A Taste of Breaking UpTo K. R. Copeland's previous piece     Good PostureTo K. R. Copeland's next piece


He expunges my blood-pumping muscle, barehanded
blends it with ice on the whip set awhile. I watch

from above as he sips, gulps and guzzles, my husk
collects dust on the rust-colored floor.

Life taken violently silently quells -- death
a warm welcome of whistles and bells.