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Hannah Dane 

Creative Writing Editor 

The silence on my paper 

Stays intact

Through the empty cans

Clashing in my lungs

And the un-un-un 

Of grinning furnaces

Who cannot see yet taunt me so.


This dependence I have

On the unreal, the untruths,

Will never suffice in this

Beaten profession,

Vertebrates curling in, 

Trapping escaping breaths, two sighs. 

Every tense tooth snapping

At these pages,

Snapping, slobbering,

Inside the coal mine of my mouth

Might just collapse within me.


Pens pierce through tense tendons.

Pencils sharpen on snagged 

Edges of my ribcage.

Paper cuts in thick cuticles.

These are lines I have written before.

Two fingers pushing lightly 

On the cherry pill on my tongue,

Overpoured rhum dripping 

Its leaky faucet down my throat; 

Can’t sip or chew what won’t dissolve.

But a bad rhyme will push 

A bubble up my throat 

Unpopped ‘til I chuckle it out, 

Unclasping my thorax. 

See the space left unwrinkled 

Between your eyebrows

When your fingers ache just right?

Inch those blue lines closer 

To see them not much clearer.

Take a bite. 


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