101 162 164 145 155 151 163

Artemis follows us through the forest. We seek the warmth of deer; we shoot signals to each other. She sprays shot from her barreled bow. The deer fall. we take them to the plant, where we dress them.

We flay the game into sheets, perforate it with our wheels. We rub salts and sours into it and hang it in the drying room. We gaze at it with our moon lamps, we move the air around the room.

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About abi nighthill

Abi has a BA in Poetry from Columbia College Chicago.
This entry was posted in National Poetry Writing Month, Poetry and Nonfiction, Science Fiction. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to 101 162 164 145 155 151 163

  1. I like this. I’m guessing this is for the art gallery thing you were telling me about?

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