#69/L6 - Letter Christ the man kisses the blood of the slim cut the envelope’s sticky lip, tastes iron. Spoons bloom in his mind. All day long he feels the thumb in a new way: distinct in pain, alert to the limits healing has. The disconcerting absence of feeling a band-aid makes possible. Each painful throb reminds him of the letter sent, lost in a sharp, shuffling sea of letters, also lost, bearing out into the world the red stamp of his hand.
Posted on: Tue, 11 Mar 2014 00:43:28 +0000
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