pas de dull

shade-prefaced letter begging and bump accusations,
post-facial portraiture and black citational business, but
no actual doing of the bump despite the continual posting
of pictures of musicians drugged in the drake-like not quite
making of the music, selfies documenting the pas de duck-
like liteness of this dual not taking care, this dull duetishness
of carelessness, this selfish disavowal of selflessness they
be doing together all by themselves when they take the
measure of the world. whatever. there’s better ones at it
anyway, doin’ two to death with museum quality, hung
in the remodeled mid-century modern house party. how many
blocks away did you say you lived? can I come over for some
frozen shrimp? how ‘bout this—no more letters, but I will
disappear in a little while. just leave fumi the fuck alone.


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