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HEATHER BRAGER

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the scintillant the voices always change in the dim light after sunset from that of sweets coated in silica, words slide off of a sharpened tongue

then echoes of gears grinding, seizing air between the teeth * she was found there once, crushed velvet and delicate porcelain debris shards sinking through melting ice of judgments bent to compulsion now, carefully fading to the back silent tinctures in the blankets dreaming of jewels and carved stones waiting for the skies to fill with light

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SPIRACLE JOURNAL Volume I Issue No. 1  

Re. In. Vent.