W.J. Herbert Dear Specimen
1. Millipede
Speak to me: flail each one of your thousand feet or, at least, unarmor your plates and let me see inside you. How does the luminescent blue of your body expand then close up again, fluent as a geisha’s tassled fan? Spill into me, millipede, give me your grace, your sticky and sensuous legs, your luminous tube: blue-edged and nested row of potter’s bowls glazed and fired and stacked, your anus clean and smooth. If I turn you upside down, your shelled head is an embryo.
2. Waterfowl, Dovekie Four in a drawer lie belly up, curved
Crab Orchard Review
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