your father | the magician | capable of being two places at once | you refer the night as a cave | that uses dark magic | to produce saddle light |

your spongy tongue | as political as begging the world to drown | you can’t speak the truth | in your blood a caste of lies is built as cells | can’t you see your body is too tipsy | to the lies you try to moisturize | did your father | the magician curse you | you should be silent like a bite |