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by Brynn Dizack

there are everyday things that comfort me // the constant clinking of my pendants against my collarbones; clouds moving against a stable sky; different shades of red. this morning you compared me to an album of ballads. its true; i have no percussion lines these days // i am just sweet low compilations of cellos and memories of your smile in the first whiskers of dawn; in the nighttime by the light of my art projects you spread out on my bed like a starfish, all sleep suction and soft, bumpy-armed. the impossibility of affixation becomes tiresome && no longer intriguing - now i can only split open memories of past longings, reducing us to pear halves in heavy syrup. you are sweetly suffocating me.


Posted on 06/30/2005
Copyright © 2022 Brynn Dizack

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