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| Like Bricks, Like Bricks: Daniel Khalastchi |
On a lighthouse ledge I stand holding a boulder. Hugged by a fishing net, the drag end of the line is threaded through a hole pricked wide in my tongue. Last week, they planted a cherry tree in my abdomen. It's watered when I sleep, and opening my mouth I feel its dry branches stretch the length of my larynx. A pile of woodchips helps to cover the roots growing down through my arches. From the tower, a lamp and mirror spit-bright the water every full eleven seconds. I fear if I breathe the stitching will loosen. When I let go the rock I move nothing my body. |
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