Assisi: An Online Journal of Arts & Letters Volume 4, Issues 1 & 2 | Page 77
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TIM MCLAFFERTY
With one hand you dip for stars
the old songs frozen in your throat
you sift this coral and shell the way
all mass apprehends its void
each bowl scraped to the sound
of cells eating— nothing
will attach, the moon won’t pilot
and not one bone stays quiet.
!!Assisi!!!71!