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  • (revised and revisited)

    The flies buzz

    and round flesh tans

    in lycra trunks.

    Laughter sharp as shale

    fells blackbirds and bloated gulls

    from the sky.

    In this glistening world of mirrored eyes,

    white teeth and death,

    of butane scents and coco oil,

    of soggy paperbacks and stewed desire,

    stick-boned and sallow

    you are pushed

    pushed beyond the Poolside’s breezy metal fence

    beyond the summer’s

    intolerant shadows and breathless flags

    beyond the tack of black freeways

    and the mercenary welcoming of hotel signs

    and exiled into yourself.

    [Drawing: Shane Convery]
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