Parkeresque, by Rebecca Wolff I’d like a lidless Vicodin. Oblivion. Countless sensation of him leaving the room. Come back soon. It occurred to me fait accompli. Clinamen. Phantom limb. Black cat sleeping (you used to be next to me) next to me dreams our lost telepathy. Share this:EmailPrintFacebookTwitterPinterestTumblrRedditPocketLike this:Like Loading... Related This entry was posted in Poetry, Rebecca Wolff and tagged Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.
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