they all left for chicago.
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c.ulprets
Time.Machine
2.4.08
slip down our throats
you'll find these grimaces.
teeth grinding around
in stomachs
with needles
and sugar and quarters.
dancing against wires
bundled together as veins.
that scowl of fruit-silk
and light bulbs
with bugs inside.
all these things
you couldn't
swallow.