Queer Wing-ed excerpt

A morning ripe with consequences flies circle fleas in the carpet images of the bridge collapsing over and over I beg the Animal Gods for sleep today but I have placed mirrors in its armpits I have changed everything I need to grieve for this peculiar loss the psychic horde of faces who will forget me one week after my last day at this job covered in light pink ash a smoky bulk a network of vague there is no sacrifice only feral and the sound of an arm or leg breaking that inner crack I am not ready to embrace the spiral a way of being here and not being here the secret club the code eye level with lions and their ways of goodbye

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