Foundry
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bison

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
Picture
John Francis Murphy. Landscape, ca. 1880-1900. Oil on canvas. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Cleo Abramian lives and writes in Colorado. 
Next
Issue nine
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  • Home
  • About
    • Masthead
  • Archive
    • Issue One
    • Issue Two
    • Issue Three
    • Issue Four
    • Issue Five
    • Issue Six
    • Issue Seven
    • Issue Eight
    • Issue Nine
    • Issue Ten
    • Issue Eleven
    • Issue Twelve
    • Issue Thirteen
    • Issue Fourteen
    • Issue Fifteen
  • Guidelines