astringent

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i thought that your flesh

should be the perfect canvas

 

and she gazed into the hand glass

hoping the reflection would sing something new

she bottled some earth for safe keeping

away from where souls (mostly of shoes) would crush it.

 

to look at the cosmos she had no reason,

with eyes blackened like basement horror,

the glory of lights three miles wide

fell silent on her like a scalpel splitting into gore

 

of alien skin, she was aboriginal,

but isn't home worth searching the galaxy for?

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