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Wretched
From the gravel pit of its stomach, a foot is captured, glued in midair like a fly futile in opaque amber struggles.
Stuck in this finite frame, the toes are delicately sliced for easier mastication and the bones begin to show,
gushing of speckled tarnish
accompanied by the molten good which is undone.
The blood is laced. Golden, childish cries beam beacons of truth saying “no…not,”
or so we think,
but all for naught for tangled heavenly hair snake
hell-ward
and in one yawning bite,
consume the heel.