Will nothing stop
this
fluttering in my chest
this
the death march of,
the dusted moth of,
which I’m so utterly afraid.
Will

this heart keep
will

this heart keep, its awful stutter its,
awful,
stunted likeness

steady.

We force the girl onto the stage, she,
hides in her hands which

makes us stare which
makes

her shriek.

Pink shift quivering,
against the black backdrop.

__

This piece is the New Sentimentalist version of Gleason's Narrative Antagonism. Originally written in Portuguese.