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I've a funny feeling on my face. 
I don't think it's quite in the right place. 

These words you find on some line, 
as I've lost the use of mouth. 
Formulated in time by a mind 
whose metre is composed in doubt. 

Started with a piercing sting entering, 
behind gum and between teeth. 
nerve-shot string feeling, 
bubbling up from beneath. 

Needle taste with hard heft had left 
circular flesh-strewn opening. 
Slack-jawed with hymn and haw, 
praise be to gods and offerings.

I've read four pages of chemistry, 
when I should've been studying history. 

Those words bled ink; spoke to me; 
I am committed but not my memory. 

"Moisture-robbing salt in its presence 
a substance is highly prone to deliquescence." 

- a term meaning longing for water, 
like pond skaters in slippery saunter. 

Eyes glare in the dark like some fairy-tale monster; 
Godmother sweeps up dust somewhere yonder. 

Dark orient skirts my periphery. 
I awake to a hole where my tooth used to be.

Giuseppe Gillespie – October 2021


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