Shannon King

Ⅰ. Found Romance

Fresh-squeezed

a basket of

prices

shut myself,

Monopoly money currency

had no relationship.

White and green,

waiting to swoop

the instant we

needed something.

Please.

Exhausted.

Deep brim...

Freshly manicured hand.

I mean, I do care.

Baby, of course.

Baby, but I care.

"Dazzling smile,"

"I know," muttered

guilty, doubtful,

scrawny, resentful

like in some book.

I hadn't spoken.

"We're not leaving."

Feeling shy, "Can I go?"

"Go on."

Salty,

I wondered.

Ⅱ.

Rotten apple cored

and stabbed into a pipe,

putrid against charred senses.

Writing poetry in the same

time and space but another day.

Ash and stagnation burn.

The summer heat and hum

of my bathroom fan swirls

dizzyingly.

The mirror is splatted with

unidentifiable hieroglyphics

with decipherable codes.

Yet, I know nothing.

Yet, again.

Ⅲ.

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yʌ Бiɢ ɢ೦೦ғ‼︎‼︎‼︎∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Diᑯ z೦∪ †hiиκ i† шʌƨ ɾəʌ∟⁇$$$$$$$$$$

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Бəɔ೦ʍiиɢ y೦∪ɾ ғʌ†həɾ Γʌϸiᑯ∟y‼︎‼︎‼︎‼︎‼︎‼︎‼︎‼︎‼︎

Ψ೦∪ɾ ʍ೦†həɾ iƨ iи y೦∪ɾ ȷʌшБ೦иə✓✓✓✓✓

Thə †iɔκiиɢ əиᑯƨ шhəи y೦∪ əиᑯ БʌБzzzzz

Ηiᑯə ʌшʌy‣ шhʌ† y೦∪ ғəʌɾ iƨ ʌ∟ɾəʌᑯy¥ ᑯəəϸ iиƨiᑯə шhəɾə ϸ೦iƨ೦и ƨϸɾəʌᑯƨ

Shannon King is an artist and poet living in Toronto, born in Miami.