we are all aslant. off-center.

awry: our stomachs, off. they

pitch agitation from being

apart. from missing the Bald Man.

and so when we shit, we shit rivers.

my nose is chafed. my breath is dark and foul and

wrong. still, we remember ourselves enough.

to check the shed. to smell

the spots. to taste the ball and

to think it good.

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