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Cottonmouth Ghosts

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A seance with breath exhaling free, tethered not to grave-soil, bound,
Lolling like hanged men’s feet, ectoplasm thick as the humidity.
Unwound in slow pantomime, pearling like syrup on the table,
As the throat in the ground hums, cottonmouth ghosts in the heat.
A seance with breath exhaling free, the dead don’t whisper
—they drip.

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