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by Anna Ruiz

Words like
gather around,
tightly circling sharks
with the smell of blood
written all over me.

and if I have nothing
left to barter and sell
or even give away
like an organ donation,
useless to the dead,
it’s just because intent
turned itself
inside out and uses me
the best way it knows how:

I pour salt into my own wounds,
and I light up the sky.

Copyright © 2007 by Anna Ruiz

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