Poetry & Prose

why should bodies end at the skin:

i’d like mine corrugated by collapsed limbs

attached at the seams by pins and needles

they don’t feel as far from me when they’re still asleep


or i’ll settle for one made up of the spiders in the night

the ones who leave a kiss or three on the roof of my mouth

i hope they take souvenirs when they go

strapping pieces of teeth to their backs, getting strong like ants


i’d even lend it to those chunks of shredded apple

tangled up in sheets of fingernail under the metal counter

listening in tandem for that perfect pulse, the one from when i got nervous


i wasn’t so lonely leaving most of that stuff on the seat of the plane

the ozones having already gotten their fill,

clinking goblets

sloshing, chock full of a scorched organ

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