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Writer's pictureTomás Tedesco

Missing in Action

Dedicated to Lisa, a friend that I’ve never met


I stood there

in the moment before silence

your buttcheeks clenched,

made a sound akin to rubber duckies

the brown miasma, the black dirt

splashed my face,

the divine wind

uncombed my $107 haircut,

my kids

crying in the room next door


I'm never going back down that hole

was my last thought on God's fertile green earth,

but the paramedics find my eyes open

and empty

no light going in

no reflection


The Ayahuasca shamans and shawomen

collaborate on my resurrection

but no amount of burnt sage and palo santo can clean the erosion

caused to what used to be my nostrils, my nerve endings, my nervous system,

a desolated withered landscape filled with ghosts of tendrils,

and you hold my hand, but the pulse you feel is one of terror


I trusted you and you sent me to the seventh dimension,

how do you expect me to forgive?

anyone

anything

I’m no longer human


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