• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 10
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Carpetbaggers slip through doors

untracked shadows

appearing to dance

as they move across the floor

their outstretched arms

like long sharp scythes

cut the atmosphere

a prism splintered

there are no fairy tales

simply raw-bone reality

detect the urgency

sense the tragedy

of each counterproductive connection

through the flicker of longed-for pain.