I pulled a soporific thread 
of smoke from the tip 
of a searing knife 
into my nose 
with a single breath.

Meters of a braided cord 
slithered from my throat 
and round an ankle 
before I crossed the hand-
thick curtains.

My organs turned to bells 
as I opened the arc. 
I touched the stones, fingered 
the bud, and fell, to be 
tugged a-jingling back.

They dragged foot after foot 
of a ribbon smeared 
with the red calligraphy 
of my ancestors from my ear 
until I bled to death

       and everything was over.

T.K. Edmond is a Fort Worth, Texas writer, musician, and screwup. T.K. is interested in dramaturgy, beauty and cruelty colliding in Texas, and general conceptualism. Recent work can be found in ZiNDaily, Strukturriss, Abridged, Coffin Bell, and forthcoming in Pidgeonholes.

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