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“Kafé, kasita non kafela et publia filii omnibus suis” — an invocation to allow one to enter someone’s dreams.

Dreams are coming to

the heel just outside,


the shadow in my sly-boot

box says so. This, too, is


a love poem and like all

brief solutions is already


fading. Meanwhile go

nowhere, do nothing.


Every motion wasted.

Finger this hole. On my


lips a sticky residue: jizz,

junk, slicked back hair.


Fleshpot vespers. Spooky

bird. I will enter your dream.