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Holly Brown

Look at Me Like an Emergency


Fuck this ruin.

I once used a blade


fit for a cook

on the skin of my feet


until my toes ballooned—

that is took off—small


things like pin pricks, or

cataracts, or the copper


insides of a wire,

maybe sparking, never


stars. My knife was

mine for the glittering,


made for TV violence;

put your microwavable


dinner on the living

room tray set and watch my palm


continue not knowing how

to use a hilt bedazzled


for any god or country or

no-fly-zone. Fight for our


right to burn ourselves by

accident on exposed radiators


and curse whatever willed

us to said heat in


the first place. The body

is for chewing on, side one.


Side two, the body is for

screaming at closed windows.


Know that when we are born

in bone and nothing-


ness it is just us

with our blue lungs.


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