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words by Victoria Todorov

Clear and distilled, pouring and overflowing with disobedience

The cuvée of so far past and just past,

swinging as pendulum

Bugle bead droplets as bodies

sway druid like in dance

The wilting of produce and

immersion in the end

Altruism cloaked puritans

A felt gambling table folds in on itself,

offering the illusion of compliance

Curiosity smoking out the transtemporal

Ayahuasca vision as the zephyr and the dust lacerate doubt