LAMBENT BODIES, OR HYPOTHERMIA AND VOMITING NEMATODES

HANNAH BISHOP

 

my small dog’s heart
in my cupped hands
throbbing between my palms
humming luminescence
 
the way glowing was heard
through the rot
soldiers decaying in mud
pulsings weaving across the dead
 
who cleans up a battlefield
 
if you do it right away
you miss the light of decomposition
 
better to hold the dead
in your hands

 

 

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