My Last Visit

Editor back-issues, Erik Austin Deerly, poetry

Cold meat covered in thin white cotton. One foot protrudes. Mouth agape, drools silently. Teeth removed, stored neatly on the roll-away table. As if you might get warm, or wake up and need to chew. Sourness—a look or a feeling? I’m not sure. Mislabeled television controls. I’ll see what I can do to fix this error. Published in little bang,…

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