Her I spilled out on
8th street: a violent
scamper out of sight.
The evacuation then
became a plastic bag,
which tangled in a
chain link fence
when the paramedics
arrived. They said that
I was dead but reassured
that with their help
a new I would
remember along
the anatomy of
all of her iniquities.
It would be a
pliable formation, it
would sell like sex
might smell, there would be
an object underneath these
nerve endings. Their
aid was graciously
refused: that the body
is vulnerable only
suggests the curvature
of what can be
discovered by uselessness
or wanton trepidation.
Gods and all manner
of eschatology also
carve designs
in hollow places.
Zoe Addison is trypophobic. Her chapbooks include Cinderbox (June 2012) and Prime (January 2013). She is currently working on too many projects, but one she is particularly excited about is the construction of &c.&c.&c.&c.&c.&c.&c.&c.&c., a hypertext poetry collaboration with Cynthia Spencer.
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