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content warning: light gore

Daylight Savings End and I Am Listening to Cocteau Twins Again As I Mail You These Parcels


Sandra Aliandy

take current number – reverse it – minus two for me – plus two for you
two a.m. an hour ago
two a.m. now on the stovetop clock
a complete breakdown over what to wear
as six chases seven in the dawn and tires toward the horizon – i fall
four down
three down
one step back
is disastrous because the pacific opens its arms wide for me –
so i fall (right?) after the one step fumble
my back to the water where i cannot see you
long fall – slice the moment in half for easier consumption and
land in painless pieces
one-hundred-thousand dark strands
salt-crisp for now but i promise it’ll soften
run laps along their later length
dark late noon jog my fantasy of my wet
face polished by the cliffside
barnacles stuck where it curves
mouth open frozen post-descend
worn rock holes irresistible for your
wide spread fingers aimed the wrong way
point it to the sea compass for me
only thing i see past the algae
stars out can’t find north find the
incomprehensible sounds
the less i hear the more certain i am
of drifting shore-calm closer closer closer
if it doesn’t make sense now cut it against
thirty of my knives
brittle but not dull the steel magnet-pulled
eventually screeches in its own drag
slice oneself because this act is
self-propelled (i agreed to the currents)
ribbon guts jet across the surface
this foam i drink for you for everyone
ruined guts don’t alarm me anymore after
one step back
what time is it for you now?
black snow a.m. for me
the sea stiffens
hi darling –
(returned to sender.)

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Sandra Aliandy is a writer of sorts from Indonesia, now in Vancouver. She misses getting seasick and cleans the grout at home weekly. Her works are/forthcoming in The Daily Drunk and Sledgehammer. Find her @tinycpr on Twitter.

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