by Tari Holmbeck

One of us is illiterate.

It’s rude to point fingers, so I’ll just point toes-
[swathed in the filth of Their servile kisses]
-in the general direction of who?
Of what?
Of blank.
Blank face. Blank mind. Blank check.
“Do what you want with me.”
Pas encore…
mon petit chou chou.

It’s getting late, so sorting out your lights and darks
won’t lighten the load.
But the Hive volunteers to do your heavy lifting.
[unlike your half awake lids]
Darling, be still.
Let Them lay and behold you.
Feed the leeches, won’t you?

One of us is illiterate.

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