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by Johanna May

I can afford what kills me.
Proof is the belly pack of fat,
waiting to be spent on a famine
that has yet to arrive.

I cannot purchase the mountain
or the hunt.
Sugar took the will
to climb mountains anyway,
the sweet comes with stupor.
Corpuscles like taffy,
pulling fat out of air
to patch myself with.

Time is the highest currency,
it pays for the subscriptions
that forgets each hour,
before life is fully spent.

Before something in me
reaches out to clutch
my heart tightly.

Like a troglodyte
grabbing a wriggling fish
from a clear shallow lake.


Posted on 01/26/2021
Copyright © 2021 Johanna May

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 01/26/21 at 04:49 AM


Posted by Matthew Zangen on 02/02/21 at 09:15 PM

+favorite, A beautifully brutal inspection of body and identity. Thanks for sharing this, Johanna. Please keep writing.

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