FORNIPHILIA

semi-finalist for the 2015 Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize

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immolate (v.): to allow him beneath your breasts, what bee-sting chain, navel to neck.

 

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when the shadow of the chair, alone, is long and pointed
                or misshapen body, I am at it,
pulling out the drawers, a graceful vase and naked bulb,
I am wanting to get between floorboards,
                nicking the joints.
when at night the plants extend their green saying I can, I can do it,
and I hold all things inside me –

 

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I went home in the middle of the day and left my shoes on.   I took my shirt off, 
I left it on the floor of the bathroom.
 
it took me hours to take off all my clothes.
it took me all day.

if life could be a small lamp, and just the soft flick of my finger.
I mean, me in puzzle across the sky.

 

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(read more from Forniphilia at Spork)