Idiolexicon: 8/27/2007

Sara Lihz Dobel


She felt like a heading.   Heap of heart and fault like sweet corn, like beans like wheat, left on the stalks.   It felt like that.   She.   Chaff.   Burn, brittle and sucked felt November like her oh, own and homeless, pocked, stuffed and stuccoed for a doorway or an entrance.   An entering: Vase shards and bike spokes and every opened little thing.


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