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Katy Acheson


i scratched my eyelids open
the sun pounding in through the window
like melting night
on the doorsteps of a mausoleum.

your breath stunk up the bed
my feet panting out at the foot
and the headboard waning slightly
to the side with more bounce.

after all the complimentary speaking
and mutual dream-inquisitions
we stumbled through our rituals

to a hot cup of chocolate
and breakfast for two

just past noon on a wednesday.

the puzzle bird

how many birds
would fit inside
this coffee thermos

if each bird
folded its wings
just so?


tilted head
crocked arms
bent up and bent down
and a toe lift*

staring at me,
a puzzled look
across his dented
robot face,

he asked:
what kind of bird?

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