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The Auspices

III Ex Tripudiis
It was the chicken heart, pulled
from the chest cavity, and set on a plate
that set me off eating. I dream still

of cake, Brussels sprouts shaved in broth—
the butter of peas mashed and salted. Awake,
I have no room for these things. My body swells

at the sight of omens: your red aura lights
my blood, your slick shadow sends my liver septic.
I am a heavy idol, tacked by gravity. I see you.

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