Arsenic Lobster poetry journal        Issue Six   2004
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Needles
Mark Cunningham

             Lick one and see visions. Or bleed your tongue. One fixed in the wedge of an elbow makes you better. The longer it stays, the sicker you are. In woods or rooms, there’s usually more than you can see. Now and then you sit on some. With such care they prick the silhouette, then the suit, then the back of your neck. Already you have stitches in place of an appendix, a gall bladder. But still there are so many loose ends: black threads of eyelashes, pubic ravels, white threads around the ear.

About Mark Cunningham

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