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{excerpt} matthew rounsville morning glories, one flower with perforated petals, through which I can see the indigo sky, as if the sky is a pack of small dogs starving and paralyzed, kicked into passive growls by the breeze. for a moment I recognize these holes. mmm, I almost know your names. how, with some slight alteration of my behaviour, a simple nod maybe, I could've been the dew. the flowers wilt and the sky eats the stray dogs, in so doing daring to mast a more brutal color. |
