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Writer's pictureAlyssa Nickerson

Collision

her body of smoke

to her was ash spread

upon the face of disciples:


a soft nothing

resigned and obscene

asleep in the back seat

degrading original opening as if

lost in rustle and reflection

that brought him

slowly

to the words in his eyes


a strange rise of light


a strange concern makes me hinge

all my might or love or tact

to the tactile

the wall the desperate sentence

the extraordinary price of force and gesture


I touched this iris after the party

it had a dementia, a core that opened to illusion


I uttered prayers to objects

I uttered prayers to engines and fire

I sang the psalms of pale night


we skidded on black ice

became for taut seconds

finally alive


how indifferent is the wonderful work of the world

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