Katie Winny

self-timer Subject matter: self, at a teetering age. Self, in skinny furs, enamel brooch slipping off sagging blouse, an avalanche. Self asks self, are you okay. There is no need to be. Harnessed clutch of hair, trailing over shoulder as a bundled animal. Self is ruptured open by the cold. Confused lambs die in the dark, petrified in snow. Little stiff blankets, the next day they are piled high. Analysis of a dream: self struggles to suppress your ghost.     vinzel September glimpsed through the open back of my black dress unbuttoned, strung up by a single wire hanger“Katie Winny”

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Katie Winny

melaleuca in the estuary there are nymphet girls, slim-bodied, with doe limbs and navy swimsuits that cross over on their fauny backs. they’re gliding on the insistence of the tide, facedown in the water, snorkel masks suckered to their cheeks. and they drift into my ankles, and they startle unselfconsciously. I remember to remember them, twin mermaids, unafraid of crushed jellyfish hanging like amputees by the edge of the water. – it is after the rain, or before, the sky sagging with hot evening sun, long lines of shadow on the grass, in the manuka trees. the little girl runs“Katie Winny”

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