the destroyer > Kayla Krut


we are technically after our drought
lawns still gauche on the one end
signs like white hands of wealth on the other

waiting to boil I lean back on the counter
and take a damp line away
today soaks six white delicates in bleach

a dress from Greece filmier than foam
a tired Oxford
an ankle-length empire

.  .  .

straighten up and fly right

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