Afterlife as an aura photo booth by Kailey Tedesco i keep sinning contained in stairwells. furniture, all caned, drops to its knees, prays. this is a confessional: do you see the checkerboard of a man lensed in red? underneath his chair: bubblegum, chewed, still wet. deeper under: sharks homemaking shipwrecks, craving blood in more ways than one. their wood cake-cut, not splintered. that’s where my face is. deep inside the woodgrain & the murk. it’s coming forward blue-lipped foamed in the color of too many paints, all of its insides floating to the surface— too bogged to identify. in a few hours no one will be able to recall how my shape fit, sitting in its own temperature. 27

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