Magic, Tragic

since you’ve been in my life
there’s been a lot of
magic, bald
man, and you are
one lucky motherfucker

the way I conduct a forced chest
sit, endorse a compressed
nose-in-armpit, source a
bare ankle tongue

I am the aortic leak
I am the warm couch boa

I am the slipped disc footnote
I am the bloody-poop asterisk

I am the open-pupiled groundhog aftertaste
I am the sweat-dream court date
I am the one-track tennis ball chase
I am the trashcan tissue-hunter messmate

we are nothing save for who we are, and
who we find ourselves to be

there is not a magic
if there is not at
once a tragic

and a thing is only temporary
because it is not

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