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back MATTHEW HOTHAM

Honey,

I feel heavy.
The strings of this ground
have noosed my murmuring heart.
My nose is compressed.
I haven’t breathed right in nights—
feel the slow suffocation
of air running from my lungs.
Give me some space,
turn on the fan so I can feel the air.
No, hold me closer—
smother me to sleep.    

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   Contributor’s notes

   Honey,
   Molting
   Without Like or As

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