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by Kamden Hilliard

A spin of modern panic sets me

in2 the day’s straitjacket Sad as

stone Gilded squalor Str8 stoic

as my A-line FISA who Cannot

confirm my need 2 dent up a few

neural certainties BUT IF IT DID

it wouldn’t tell me Only talks 2

top me Shouting Wellbutrin praise

Ativan praise Amphetamine Salt

daze 4 the generally all quieting

yt science of my [now] cool calm

collected common adder It like my

hiss hoarse Keep me feigning furious

4 publicly legible fear     What

kinna word is dongle? Y do yu need

my ID? Where hav they hidden

the wires? But i’m

fucctional 4ward even if movement

is a matter of concession Hot dog

water Panko facts We are legally

obligated to offer yu 2 all available

generic medicines I feel most

mother-in-law-ly wen wishing in rain

bows in with my cool swish & apple

bottom 2 beat back Bsides of adam4adam

frot & hide-a-key coke copping in

[this literally happened]

a crab shack bathroom A McDonald’s

bathroom But i don’t do crab coke or

McDonald’s anymore Or cataracts

of sorrow or the way

sumtimes        with no warning        wind would pull

from me

my ten thousand hundred        pipings

blinkless lite 2 let go

stop not even if     i do luv

a lil’ death in me

Kamden Hilliard is an MFA candidate at The Iowa Writers' Workshop. Catch their work in The Black Warrior Review, American Chordata, The Nashville Review, and other sunspots.

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