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Saturday, April 21, 2018

In the Time of—*

1. The body is mass production. A mountebank waits

2. for a hag to die so he can rebuild. Climb on the heel.

3. It grinds as our shadows ground who first witnessed

4. ocean. This action shares a word with the surface we

5. twist upon. English is waiting for a starlet to die. Face

6. forward. Prioritize neural receptors. We must get even

7. to go back. Is land the memory of granular discovery, is

8. our land offering an image, must it drop through smoke—

9. We tire of what the body must do. My arms scrubbed

10. a pan. My thighs scrubbed the grit of the pan. The thumb

11. was panned at the boxoffice. Mind your manners, see,

12. I have one. I sew the seams together, pull up the limbs

13. of a 7,897 dollar conspiracy. My breasts flex the eggs. Air

14. is a very still bone my temple, a button, obediently chews.

*I'm going to write four poems today to catch up with the last three days! I'm on tour and am documenting my scribbles for those rare golden threads <3

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