Ice Box
To become an objection as cool as an ice box. To wither the crops. To hold a baby in your hands. Never mind, the arms. We shoot photographs of you. I still believe in black bile. I still think I'm holy. This rhyme is non-violent. Snap.
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Other stories by J. Michael Wahlgren
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I like this. It punches holes. It creates skyways. It looks at who's looking at us and fires off a missive.