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Let’s make suicides

in the Taco Bell soda station.

Let’s blast off airsoft

guns at your LARPy neighbors.

No one will ever know

how often I pretend 

I am a martial artist

a lonepoke old prospector

and a spy for the NSA

in your phones

watching all

through your cameras.

I’m seeing that tattoo

of a semicolon on your wrist.

You won’t tell me what it means,

but I’m just excited

punctuation’s getting its shine….

Your lazy ells, your imploded

tees, all unvoiced. In a puzzle map

meant for learning, I shoot you

with the state of Oklahoma. I’ve

said it before I’ll say it again:

the two of us are vowels together

we’re oeuvre and ovoid

yeet and yaw. Giant Os together

maybe standing zeroes—

blackhats on our first day, taking

out the number one. I’ve palmed

the bawl. You’ve slowed to a crawl.

But you were like an aardvark, always

first, and I can almost still see the

saloon doors swinging.