#099

I am a flashing alibi.

The moon is being treated for amenorrhea. Her heart is a lump of uranium. Startled, the cat jumps forth, chars his furry tail. I mouth a careless prayer.

Everything is breath.

Every breath a proposition.

The boy I fucked last Christmas called me a witch. Now Salem wears a mushroom on her crown. Read the future in the fissures of memory, I had told him. And I tell you again. Next door, men with blubber on their nape discuss half-lives. Bedrooms stink of cabbage and meat. Someone plays a mouth-organ.

At 16, I had magicked my room to ash. The window expands. My heart is a lump of uranium.

Let me tempt you into falling.

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16 thoughts on “#099

  1. Ahh the heart as lump of uranium is a potential i hold true..as at core we true are nuclear energy….2

    Without fear..without shame..without guilt..without all the illusions some hold…

    The magicK can be

    simply TRUE
    and yes..
    free at core
    of atomic explosive more..:)

  2. I love “Salem wears a mushroom on her crown”! Those smells are great triggers..for sadness, remorse, yet the spirit is resilient inside that heard exterior of uranium.

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