‘Click’ came the stalactite. Thing-slack and static-jawed, the ear-sap dripping on the track congealed as flat-blocked jigsaws puzzled goz-clouds. Jilt with suns, glut yourself and fissure screens of silver- you crack me up girl. No really. Nucleic ink stains cheek your face, maccing Turins on your skin; making anchors of capped teeth. Bodies break and a man falls in time from a window shivered by prayer-bombs. And you, ankled in grit, stagger back back back.
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