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Kristen Evans



To be honest I am here to break things.

Oh, it is something I need to do myself,

a sparkling danger I hold in my palm

like the night. In my palms I hold

two black crows, somewhere in the sea-woods

they cackle like maniacs. This is my signal.

I set off flares to keep myself kind, loathe

their light upon me, bright door

I will never be able to close.

In the red light we scatter shipwreck

along shoreline, it looks better in pieces.

We feel the drums beating wild in our teeth,

some song we knew when the sea shuddered

and gave birth to your longing.

Your longing she had such fine calves

and a violent nature, a voice you couldn’t bear

to hear. No we did not yield and quiet,

no we did not deliver her unto the ocean

with its many whales, no we did not stop dancing. 

We threw our shoes and our questions at the wind,

it answered, though there were none to have.

Your longing she left with the crows. And I am following after,

fast upon her tiny trail of blood and black sand.

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