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saved
the
sisters of perverse desire
were
right after all this is it they warn
her
on the telephone a threat low and forgotten
pricked
with broken tooth pain at the mention of his
name
his name in the bath his name in the elevat
or
his
name breathing breathing breathing in her blue
in
her blue sheets seed on the floor of the car
run
off the road into the tree lake careen
tragic
animal snort the splayed wind
shield
locked swallow swallow
he
knows how night curls
her
claw under
his
tender
oh
***
The
White Orchard
You said sheath, a short story,
a boy frozen in a lake. You said builds
a fire, takes off her clothes, reads
to him.
It was simply a misunderstanding.
You meant protein, effervescent.
I poked holes in the ice with
a blade
of grass, carried an axe, an empty pickle
jar. His eyes
were open. His mouth formed
the word prune. He might have
been
whistling. He wore corrective shoes.
You said sheath,
I heard tissue, flesh
envelope, champagne
cocktail dress.
There was a war room, and trout bent
in
pale green reeds, a kind of sickness
like sleeping pills or
barnacles.
You said sheath, and I heard a
tubular fold
of skin, a condom, a dog's penis
retreating.
I covered him with linen napkins.
My mistake.
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