I’ve woken up
in recent days
from dreams of fascists
with red holes dead centered
in their dead foreheads.
Whenever I do,
I sweat this urge out of me.
Smoke bathe it away
until all that is left
is a lingering residue:
unholy joy.
I’ve woken up
in recent days
from dreams of fascists
with red holes dead centered
in their dead foreheads.
Whenever I do,
I sweat this urge out of me.
Smoke bathe it away
until all that is left
is a lingering residue:
unholy joy.
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