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NADINE BOTHA
sleeveless goose-pimples

The light in the driveway makes the sun rise at night.
Sky black, window lit.
Actually it's a sliding door.

Ants moving the house millimeters,
I shipwreck on the carpet
floating on hives and nests.

Coagulated and oil spattered
like an overblown chicken,
I have the music on.