i cannot pull
the clover
who volunteer
to grow
in my front porch
petunia pot
i sit cross legged
mourning my right thumb
my typing tool
sizzzzzzzle
was the sound
my frying skin made
as i grabbed mr. coffee’s
naughty
touch me not parts
blister
is one of my least favorite words
second only to maggot
gag
shudder
and i chew it back
my blackened thumb
covered in the last
of the bandages
left over
from performing
penetration
with a scalpel
a favor for a friend
forgetting my audience
he loves me not
and reminds me often
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