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Meredith Chang

Resuscitate

crescent moon imprints from the nail

biting, tasting the thick of my skin the sullen

thumph of sour blood-beating

i wonder that it does not draw crimson,

does not bisect the pulse

oh but i wish it would!

because a wound with blood and pus or

the murmur and hiss hisshiss of decay

do not signify death

but through the wound,

like an open mouth they let small screams of life.

so today I will extricate myself from flesh

and then latch onto it in

months i feel particularly greedy

a salvation.



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