Findings: Flint Readings

This displaces everything: my bluish hypothermic hold.
He offered me licorice,
he has plenty.
A kind hey, a touch of the lips, truth or dare
yielding an expected fuck
destiny
milk and cookies
recoiling like fire
life spent hiding from arrows, spears, claiming you're good,
and stuck
in the same place.
You chewed his candy, a dingo
a child rotting his death.
I should have listened to my surrogate mother
yesterday.