thrown-on intellect throws off feng shui
in splattered chunks of information
non-sequitur clicking of the teeth
formerly gnashed below a thought-full tumor
spilling black bile like it was hopeless romanticism
receding into the inner circle
where everyone is god and everything
is neatly segregated
and you feel good about yourself
as the hangman begs for his leg
so he can feel the full dead weight of his body
as he drops into the rope you threw him
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