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Literature Text
take
my
candle soup
grown pale
by low
table dawn
straits
and
seal
the flesh of grief
into
a
dead
sun's mane.
my
candle soup
grown pale
by low
table dawn
straits
and
seal
the flesh of grief
into
a
dead
sun's mane.
Literature
exhibit.
Nanny thinks the carpet is too soft
to be my torturecage
and the sofa and endtables are poor
jailbars, but we
are feline and we're too tough to care
bigsister and littlesister are lioncubs today
baby lionesses, authentically,
we even lap milk from
ceramic bowls, bellies swollen from
the orders we give: 'emily, you're the
zookeeper.
Get us more milk.'
She hates serving us, she's only four
but she's getting strong and someday
she'll earn predator status.
(give thanks that we do not consume you, emily,
your fingers peek through the cagebars and
they are white and young and blood
is sweeter than breastmilk)
Roar. We are learni
Literature
snowbones
holding my hands over the kettle
the skin on my fingertips peels back,
like dated wallpaper,
like flowers blooming.
they're burning from the inside out,
nails turning to varnish, turning to steam,
bones click-clacking their way out;
spreading like wildfire.
the whistling stops, and
blink
and my fingers are just fingers,
ink stained, bitten nails.
sunlight streams across the kitchen,
my fingers warm and
slightly damp, i trace patterns on
steamed-up windows.
Literature
immolate
the first step
to sadness is to
have.
[3]
poseidon
punctuates the bruised
shorelines with broken hearts and
shattered abelone
shell fragments.
sometimes the
shore creeps up, kisses
my feet. sometimes he rips through
the distance between
us, taking
what's his.
[5]
the air here
vibrates to a fire,
sparrow's heart humming in c
major. it does scare
me sometimes,
how i might love you
more than ibuprofen, or
the way the light might
oscillate
through an ether storm.
the person i am now is
not compatible
with who i
was before you. but
how do i scrape myself out
from under my own
fingernails?
[7]
we caught the
moon
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actually written on time; if that doesn't raise your brow, I've final exams tomorrow and this is what oozed out. Hope it isn't total rot.
oh, happy belated cinco de mayo, amigos.
actually written on time; if that doesn't raise your brow, I've final exams tomorrow and this is what oozed out. Hope it isn't total rot.
oh, happy belated cinco de mayo, amigos.
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Comments7
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"and
seal
the flesh of grief
into
a
dead
sun's mane."
I love that it makes me imagine...
seal
the flesh of grief
into
a
dead
sun's mane."
I love that it makes me imagine...