A Forest Bleakly Mute

by Gretchen Mattox

meekly draped (is that one “p” or two?) she dances
not on high per say, but in the distance between perceptions

Rorschach blot, dark mass, formlessness
the destroyer’s star

to address the abuser I want to hurt myself
in the voice of “you can fuck off”

the lessons open into further lessons:
a prefab forest burned back

its curled inward falsified sweetness;
the ecosystem of flies.

Gretchen Mattox lives and writes in Fairfax, California.

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