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Dirge hums for passing Wormrot, Dirge drivels, mournful, Wormrot moves, on. What is a neighbour called who vacates to two blocks down? Dirge sometimes screams in a street in a night (when there are no people around, when it is cold, with thick absence). This settles his one scream into a cold black like the spray of a sneeze drifts into air, like an aerosol of a spray-can dispersed, like a venom of snake into air. Wormrot crawls sometimes on the floor of his house, forgets his eyes of blind spot, becomes all over, the empty marker in his head. Sometimes Dirge screams into Wormrot’s belly, with his face pressed into Wormrot’s belly. Sometimes Wormrot writhes his body into Dirge’s face, writhes his belly or the inside of his thigh, or the cheek of his butt or face into the side or front of Dirge’s face; or his armpit or backside into Dirge’s face. Tend to, Wormrot & Dirge slide obscenely gently into each other. Tend to, Wormrot & Dirge stand on their respective patios, with a lookout across a partway-distance, slant either in or away from their other location. Sometimes when Wormrot remains, parsed, these two blocks from Dirge, Wormrot scribbles on the unsent postcard; sometimes Dirge places, alone, the cups of tea for two onto his coffee table.

 

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