Shutter speed.

I can only think of violent poems;

slicing things open and inside-out

the heat gets to you

and nothing feels real anymore

especially not the eyes.

Especially not your thoughts

faint as Jesus dancing across water

crust, top soil, epidermis; I can’t be serious

the heat makes you all confuzzled

so you can’t remember what it was like

to have something to say.

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