I wish, between the spinal synapses, I could insert a key, the teeth slotting into place like a bird, landing upon a telegraph wire.

.

And waiting, it would turn, it’s wings would spread, and exhaustion, slowly, would spring.

.

Outwards, amber exhaustion, melliferous it malingers, before gushing from my pores, a Vesuvian embrace.

.

And my bones, the tension that wrought them, unravel like a tangerine skin, t’wards redamant relief.

.

Wings spread outward, the plane of days,

.

Just before the,


key, turns
.

back.

.

.

.

.

.

Published by QuiffedLiterati

I am a PhD Researcher of Contemporary Anglophone Literature at the University of Warwick. I mainly research 'the secret', neoliberalism, and the novel since the turn of the twenty-first century in Britain, drawing on literary studies, politics, philosophy, history, poststructuralism, post-critique, affect theory, and aesthetics.

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