Serial Library passage July 20

20 Jul

Mystic burgers were the heartbeat of the gathering of spirits that Femur felt might save her. Femur was twelve. She shed her umbilical and stood poised.

Yes, we were lovely, and we ate the burgers we had barbecued in the twilight under the tree in the yard by the small space between the fingers of our lives where the skin webbed delicately on the waning moment of the organization of our boney white assholes.


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