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Inner Circle
The circle she suggested I draw in my head is more scorched than drawn. The way the cherries of our Marlboros burnt red- brown peepholes through our loose-leaf. The way my dry vagina sparks now when penetrated, or my mouth when ringed with the wrong lip- stick. The wagons in old westerns get torched because settlers commit atrocities forever after and before, perfect circle of human invention. Crown, wheel, brand, bullet. Draw a circle with a flame. Eyes closed. From inside. It’s dark in there and you need the light. You need to burn all the way through.