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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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