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66 Nightingale Fever Nightingale Fever doesn’t hurt but you will hiccup until blind leaving you to see with other senses touching elephants tastes of cherries and mud the sound of a desperate kiss helicopters chopping your nights into fragments of missing person dreams heat under the table from your dog panting smells of weeds from childhood baths shared with your sticky brother and you will write with eyes closed as the words slip out like charms from your dead uncle’s pocket Nightingale Fever won’t condemn you to bed but to a sleep of memories you’ll record on the insides of your thighs birdbath on the crazy neighbor’s terrace your father walking you to school while spitting in the gutter the creepy pony you wouldn’t get on sleepover when Rita showed her red hair you’ll write faster thoughts stepping on each other’s faces underneath the covers poems coming one after another as you struggle to join what was to create what might be ...

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