Thursday, June 6, 2013


Don’t ask us what it’s like
in that moment when the body
skitters away
from that stupid
sheepy shape of breath.

Down here, no one asks.

We all died

boot to throat.

We all went out
shrieking some bloody name.

Our tongues swelled,

you kissed
our numb fingers.

It was all
very touching.

The creak of your sob
in your stupid face,

your wooden gait
on the frosty hillside.

No one axe.
No one chitters
at all.



The Dead Girls Speak in Unison, Danielle Pafunda

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