Originally appeared in Extract(s), 2014


by Lauren Dixon

the truth lies tell
in those birdshot veins
wrecked sand in the lungs

vous mourez?
nous mourons?

mourning spreads on
the kitchen counter like ashes
from lung-collapsed cigarettes
and willful fucks cemented in bed

vous gardez

there it was
swifting matches against
the palm – vous

a vox?


on the floor after the missing
mattress sold and sur vous
I climbed—couldn’t glue

vous ensemble encore
nous ensemble encore

the leaves, curled along
my fingertips, sprinkled
into the mouth—always
agape and now quiet, swollen

non ou oui
non ou oui

an abandoned flea flickered
off the ankle—stretching toward
the hisses a whir overhead

v-o-u-s? mon
coeur grazed, grazing,
murmurs of breath

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