Leveler Poetry Journal
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Arise, Dissembler


I touch my forefingers to my thumbs
to make a pair of glasses
how I wear them with
elegance but still can’t peek
inside you there must be magnets pushing
other magnets around
we are equally
unattractive sporting our paradise skin
grabbing at the salt in the air
with our tongues we use to pick
guitar strings
a song of blunted thorns
these teeth rattle like a bucket
of hermit crabs toppling down a hill
and we with our quiet
little mouths hunting for a bigger shell




Curtis Perdue