It actually smells like several aunties, like several aunties but with sequined sweat-shirts, with sequined sweatshirts and a brackish stream, with a brackish stream and a chain-link fence. It actually smells like a chain-link fence, like a chain-link fence but in summer storms, in summer storms but with sticky hands, with sticky hands and a high-pitched whine. It actually smells like a high-pitched whine, like a high-pitched whine but with smelly cans, with smelly cans but through a cracked windshield, through a cracked windshield and through a tear-shaped window. It actually smells like a tear-shaped window, like a tear-shaped window but with the word technique, with the word technique and with palm-muting at the end, with palm-muting at the end but on damp concrete. It actually smells like damp concrete, like damp concrete but with chug-chug-chug, with chug-chug-chug but scaled to size, scaled to size but with an open part. It actually smells like an open part, an open part but with some loose rules, with some loose rules but pre-sliced, pre-sliced but with no muffler. It actually smells like no muffler, like no muffler but behind the barn, behind the barn but five-pointed, five-pointed but with some kind of structure. It actually smells like some kind of structure, like some kind of structure but stuck in the ditch, stuck in the ditch but with no way out, no way out but with no way in.
excerpt from soft mosh 1-3, in POETRY IS DEAD #18, “Metal”, October 2018
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