I wake sallowly, all
sub-rounded corners and
disjointed limbs. The night
is a thready, uneven pulse.
Over the sea, an iceberg
breaks into flocks of birds. They
are only birds.
And still the sky throbs,
throbs, while all the wetly
breathing matter wheezes
in tandem like some dying
magnificent orchestra, like wind
in a skull, like my own
hunched body, which sweats
and breathes
despite itself.
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Submission Name: Strife
