Abstract

A crescendo of panting to her stiff-lunged yearspressed in on her for three days and a bit before the succumbingno word could be wedged between gasps.A knife twist in her life’s two year tail two years’witness to others’ ministerings at her flesh-raw chestturned outward to the airenforced fluency in the language of lint.From nests of treason in her breastat night the insurgency pushed outinto the bloodlinesoutriders of a black hostthe dreadful propaganda of cellsbridgeheads locked down in bone and braina Reichstag fire flowering in her backherstory crumblingmidnight dominoes along her spine.At the endat the panting postin the room curtained for deathher body spat and crackled with a foreign fevereven past the last breath and her eyes drying.In the bare room a malignant hum.When they came for her a thin smoke hung