They always told us not to drink the devil’s blood

Not protection. It came so suddenly, didn’t leave so soon.
A voice, old vinyl crackle, rotations, skip skipping, unable to know,

they never told us the way to shape red lips into a strobe of No,
No, no. Only our fingers stacked,crisscrossing over one another,

the difference between bad omens and worse luck. Just another
Scratched record to add to the united folding of sleeves, rolled up

to the elbows, forearms deep, reaching for the bottom, cold well,
untied at the fingertips, it’s all he needs. Consumption. Wandering

eyes, no longer flirting. Misrecognition comes first, then all the colors,
the skipping curiosity, needing to be needed, kneading to find out

what it feels like to not be needed, to be forgotten, or never found
in the first place, there are drifters everywhere, being sucked up

into el Niño, not fighting it. I will fight it. But eventually even I
will give up, drink, let the wind take me until I can get what I need.

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