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NADINE BOTHA
we shouldn't create ourselves

Metaphysical stories
punch you in the face
reality is just fixed.
Judy taking the bitch.

The puppets flock.
Fucked by what they're watching,
anal - Mr Sock
peeling designed for the onion metaphor.

I take the metatext
to the constable
sheriff in a small town,
where it doesn't make sense either.

At least it's not supposed to there.
While here, on my nose,
perched like slipping periscopes
the mirror.

She regrets what is lost,
although she doesn't know what that is.
But it reminds her of the new place.
Of the old place, she remembers

it depressed her.
Shale off her shopping list.
Everything becomes evil,
living in the turnstiles.

Flicker the candle burnt
for days until I blew it out.
I couldn't see it
in misty glass.

Nose pressed orifice open,
doesn't get you to the other side.
Do you remember?
I flick.

I know I didn't tell you,
construct you
feeling up condoms only ant eaten.
And my mouth.

Filling the post.
An envelope only licked.
Metal repeats until broken.
Broken first.