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or the aurora borealis

like the names of places that don’t exist or your coca-cola perspiring in a swampland caravan of gypsy hyperbole i grow into you so slow root systems breach birthing soil in hunks and missing elephantesque memories baked into the hot sidewalk cracks of your mother’s backyard watching the north star and fucking in the front seat of a borrowed car to a diorama soundtrack of a desert or a snow storm or the aurora borealis choreographed by the callous nature of a pretended stranger’s touch the bland bantering tight-lipped chatter of working men over formica and coffee serve to disguise my hand sliding a single folded piece of loose-leaf into the back pocket of your jeans it reads

let’s break some hearts. 
Posted 06/24/15
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