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Senno Ecto Gammat.

Slanted, liquid, almond eyes
bursting, bugging out of an inverted
gray guitar pick of a head. Endless
numbers of you staring
down and into me, nearly touching
my forehead,
nearly Eskimo-kissing
me as I lie, immobilized, paralyzed
cold table against
my back, raped from within.

My head, your flipbook.
My mind, transparent, naked
as can be before you.

No external wounds
to tend to,

not to say I’m not torn
open wide, bleeding,
always fucking bleeding…

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