we slid into the cave carefully.
the boat was thinner than
all of our thighs.
I felt self-conscious.
I looked up and found
a breathing black cloud.
it was not a storm or a
blackened smoker’s lung,
but a huddle of bats,
clinging to the ceiling.
if I screamed, they would
hurtle themselves down
into my hair, fly stealthily
down my throat, and perch
in the cavern of my stomach.
I want to be full of
beautiful music, but
I don’t want it to be alive.
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