of a witch


with a

slow jinx

like lemonade


on a nickel

store’s stand

it’s too hot.


don’t laugh

at how absurd

it all feels

as i hanged,

faltering by the

edge, fulcrum

taking hold

of every sense

of each word

from a fall

kill the sunlight.


the apartment

doors are

closing, but

i’ll hold

the knob ajar

and cover

the peephole

against intruding

eyes and

hushed tones

i’ll warmly wait for soon.


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