having been cast into unwrit dimensions, i keep my fists closed & my heart numb. doe, cave-
eyed, pupils exploding: threshing floor underfoot: spindling to stand. perhaps i will write
dread so many times, it will lose
all meaning. perhaps i will float
like a tire in a landfill, or
a grave in new orleans after the rain. i am spooning
mouthfuls of formaldehyde, desperate
for iridescence: if there are more colors than i can know
in one lifetime, what then?
Amy Jannotti (she/her) is a pile of dust in a trenchcoat rotting & writing in Philadelphia. She is editor-in-chief of Bleating Thing Magazine and an author of three chapbooks, most recently: ANGELS & INSECTS ARE CREATURES WITH WINGS (Kith Books, 2023). Her poems can be found in Olney Magazine, Black Stone / White Stone, Violet Indigo Blue, Etc. & elsewhere. WEB TWITTER INSTA
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