Kaizo Block*
Sara Hovda
So much is defined by the shape of our pain.
The scar on my arm where my thumb rubbed through layer after layer of skin.
So much is defined by the shape of our pain.
The scar on my arm where my thumb rubbed through layer after layer of skin.
I learned his patterns, parried his bombs,
got all up in his face, all up in his guts.
If I kept him running, he could never fire.
My favorite apocalypse
happens halfway through
as in, everything comes down
and you’ve got to keep going
the worship / of a songbird / laced into its baby blue / bonnet / of sky // the dead dog / copy-pasted / its same small crooked paws / around this corner / and
You are still trying to name yourself, still scribbling on your tombstones, still threading through sutures. You are partition & parenthesis.
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