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Myself, beneath my floorboards, the violent thrashing of, by James Tadd Adcox

Myself, beneath my floorboards, the violent thrashing of, by James Tadd Adcox

Poetry, Vol. 5.2, June 2011

Robert:

There’s no privacy anywhere anymore, watching cars people outside this window, peering through walls, through skin and bone, lingering for what can be salvaged. It is small and strange, oddly. The increasing skin, beyond our fields of vision, ready to surge forth onto the earth.
Someone I love and think.

Very warm feelings have been felt by me. In terms of you, I wake up nights with my sheets in my teeth. I will be overrun. I will be consumed in the surge, the realization that others have opinions towards you. Wiped from the earth.

The strange anxiety, the violent thrashing, can just disappear in a moment. The burnt-out spots as if after a storm.

At this moment or the next, the violent thrashing of myself, the old ways, the memory of what is consumed. The goat’s smile. The wolf’s teeth.

You don’t understand disappearance, the human memory altogether, what we have said, what we have done.

A given moment arrives, the moment to surge, when something wholly new, unattached to others—

Making by Kara M. Bollinger

The Flood by Ryan Rivas

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