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Exorcising On your marks. Nothing behind me or in front, just mud-stained sneakers. They squeak, then smack, soles peeling towards the pavement. Even in February, Florida makes me sweat. Get set. I’m not running from anything, except the shape that no one wants and that I just want out of. My thighs ache, and touch each other, and sigh. Go. back to the archives All work on this site (writing and illustrations) are copyright 2003, Iz Church

Archives | About DnC | Biography | Elsewhere | Email me