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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 21, 2013

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Submitted: May 21, 2013




I, conscious oilslick body bubbling under heat, hardening under dark, bloating and deflating under foods and glycerins

applied with vigorous motherly force, regenerating under God my immunity,

my woe-be-gone gelatin being (a sore and smelly bruise);

I grow quickly tense and hot to the touch.

remains of my necrotic self collect layers which

overhang my eyes, stuff my breath, strangle my nerves into masses of draggled worms;

phantom limbs now sprout from the hub,

the head-hole I've retreated to,

a thickly-littered pit I've worn soft with sleep.

I continue to amputate-

an ambulatory shell is quite efficient.

just an exoskeleton to cradle my meats and simple, gnawing instincts.

daylight pulled away its poisoncolors,

and i see

my own violet acid will soon be sweet and sticky

between the teeth of whatever finds me first.

© Copyright 2019 Caroline Michaud. All rights reserved.

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