This blood is thick with pre-existing and hazardous plaster, resisting its animal. The entirety of its expectation is to fly from its zoned circumference while being set free from filthy skin cut with a dull and sterile blade. I’ve been waiting to be surrounded by its overflow, vegetative in a state of voyeurism. The tendency now is to utter words markable, how can I, in the way of trudging befall, my language is forgetting to move my lips. The spawn of myself, plum-red and prismatic, is nothing I’m able to possess.

Tessy Ward is an MFA candidate at Boise State University and the author of My Head Can Feel the Vibrating of a Full Heartbeat Through a Chest That Is Neither Hollow Nor Dark, a chapbook from Press 254. She was a Sutherland Fellow in poetry at Illinois State University. Her work is forthcoming or has been published by Touch The Donkey, and Connecticut River Review, among others.

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