Poem of a week: Husk by Margot Armbruster
Husk How did we ever get here? we have been measuringmy value in etched wrists for so prolonged we consider my bonesare done of aspartame. Or plum blossom. Can Igain solubility, dissolve? Can we turn unconditionally blood?Viscera. Cold palms pulpy againstmy back. Ribs. Ankles, spine. This resembles a checklistbut is some-more truly a prayer.
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