lip service

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language begins at the tongue

but dreaming london doesn't mean it's the only dot on the map. not when you grow up different, not when shopping malls suffix every parking lot


and when it doesn't begin at the tongue? I've whispered with fingertips, written words that no longer know how to speak. Japanese chases itself inside Turkey then sits on the page a vision of China. appearances speak volumes. 1... 2... 3...


or like other times, when linguistics was a map of my mouth. when a sentence will end long after the period. a promise you hadn't yet said. when latin replaces math

they didn't notice, but "I" and "r" can be versions of the same letter. can be, to her ear, the same sound. listen, there's a reason dreams happen beneath eyelids. there's a pattern. Trust me when I say I'm going to sew buttons on the underside of shirts, read them across ribs


hearing sideways in the morning may be your idea of verbal action. in turn, I will be consumed by midnight, only not that mercuric. the street crammed with lawn intentions, remnant of camouflage, veiled postures, faux balconies


lip service - by Nicole Markotic

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