Zoe Addison


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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