scornfully clucks her tongue. The sound
digs a battery out of my back.
Ew, my unpiloted cockpit's
all widened by the calisthenics of scorn.
Scorn is a thick plug
in a tractable earlobe.
but of course,
were she to bounce
I’d freak, my loosened skin
Aswingin’.
hit me at the right moment, turned my sense of poetry inside itself. to use to cadence of talking, the normal expressions but to sub out the normal banal words with surprising surreal words, bodily fresh, gross, of now, of a real person, but stranger, making the familiar strange, making the strange familiar.
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