bison
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First separate the muscle
First find a space for your hand There is room by the heart valve there is room in the warm weeping parts. First listen to the sounds around you becoming clean — the tincture hum of gravel — the fur as it starts to freeze — When you touch it becomes a carpet — it’s your thighs the hairs there they wait. Now there are things screaming in the wind. You watch your fingers becoming imaginary as if they were enormous rakes, as if soft threads grew from them, dragged over the body weavings on the ground |
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Cleo Abramian lives and writes in Colorado.