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By Boona Daroom

We were getting used to feeling used, like a bucket of dead fish being poured into another. Yes, humans are the only ones with waste streams. You are coughing, ash on mustache and goatee and not sure what else to say. The number of drug-resistant cases jump while we walk through supermarket to the powerplant, gates wide open. Silos cast a sidelong glance at the basking whales, trackless seas across the epoch.


Boona Daroom's work has appeared in LIT, SOFTBLOW, apt, among other places. He lives in Brooklyn.


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