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The Grave’s Kudzu

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I Cannibal…
beneath the mud and cayenne in the
grave’s kudzu, warm are the vessels
to your heart…
To watch you bleed, is to love you
and swallow your soul. Spitting the
juice in a Crisco can, to save the
marrow and the grease.
Forever trapped in my burning belly,
with a heavy froth, forming over your
ghost. Down in the cellar, with redeye,
blackeye peas. In the grave’s kudzu.

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