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Thursday, February 07, 2019

the subtle heft of razors beneath the magnolia tongue's lash

States May Sing Their Songs of Praise:

I imagine each enunciation, each syllable
pronounced—Mississippi—makes a noose
cinch somewhere, rope reduced
to arousal, tightening. The pull,
the hard-learned feel of vertebrae supple
within a neck's column, and marrow's juice
sucked clean until what remains are flutes
of bone, a wind section of rubble.

Kyle Dargan.


February 7, 2019 | Permalink


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