Splinter, Shed, and Tweezer


  1. Splinter.
    it sits deep, having slithered
    in underneath the
    colour of my skin, when I touched his face
    but it was wood at the end
    of all things, and not flesh, just
    the nose shavings of a puppet
  2. Shed.
    I shed a month over four more,
    unstrung the veena’s
    singing whining
    hours from the taut memories wire
    stripping my own fingerprints
    from the evidence reel
  3. Tweezer.
    I am CPR-C/AED certified, I think.
    A splinter is no problem, I think.
    “It was just,” I say, and tug with forceps,
    “a mistake – “, as it dislodges, days
    trailing from its end, coated in blood, and fat, and
    the inside of my skin,
    to touch you at all” 
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