His eyes stare at you like the black
bottom of Jersey’s shore
stretched so wide you think you
could swim in them
until you hear this noise
that starts somewhere from
the back alley of his throat
a high pitched whine
undulates through the air
like a wire stretched out beyond
it’s recall — it snaps
the sting is in the air
one whiff of it and you
don’t recognize him anymore
you slither backwards
And he inches forward to tell you
what you long to remember:
He’s built his heart with
tissue paper walls.
~elizabeth adams
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