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"Sometimes It Wears Thin"
The salon smells of wet-furred
anticipation and stress,
yet no patroness removes her human skin.
The open-close door chimes like
bells on a cat’s collar—
humble reminder of domestication.
"Transition"
The midnight sun grants ablutionary...
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“Sisters at a Friary”
To and fro, nineteen friars hobble, blind. Apricot blossoms surrender
a lingering scent. In the courtyard, we sisters hold hands and twirl.
About the abbey a broken wall, like gravestones jutting out. It is the same
or is it the same?
Low hills force up yellow...
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"Flash and Violence"
one by one, My senses ignite like a switch flipped
tentatively, I feel around Me and know:
I am a collective of strange, strange beings,
newly born and assaulting the night
with sounds of My violent rapture
lope between branches of lightning, multiplying in...