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Laypeople, Comets; Kay Oakes

I know what is Goddamned

As it lit down on the footpath

As starvation, the language of insects

So the pikefish bleeding through the vaults

Of young wine Cousin, I give my face to the blushed amber and yours

Come the humid evening, we read and say again

One to another The light hunting us through the rot

Like an ancestor

I watched her right her own back and retch

Wrap in the curves of bone

They spill the ground with song

Yea, the smell of night, the tar blue

The way the heritor got sick as dogs get

That he took to wearin a mask

He said Good night

At the handsome whim of gulls


Kay Oakes is a writer and educator in South Texas who just can't stop thinkin about sleep and coyotes. His work can be found in or is forthcoming from Strange Horizons, Brazos River Review,Scalawag Magazine and Menacing Hedge.

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