Neoliberalism
Theo Morris
The cricket bat he scored 300 runs with,
his bronze-medal rose from a local fair,
his favorite cap—all given
the barcodes of oblivion.
The cricket bat he scored 300 runs with,
his bronze-medal rose from a local fair,
his favorite cap—all given
the barcodes of oblivion.
on Fridays I don’t know if I’m more jealous of Loba’s curves
or the Gatsbyesque gluttony of Rampart’s silk skins that trigger memories
of every sari I abandoned to flee home with two suitcases Rampart
is everyone I’m scared you imagine after I leave
fairytale posing as apocalypse
what would a queer story be
without fungus-wearing flesh eaters,
bashing in the heads of civilians
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