Between the Gates
These hands,
these fingers,
this stretch of
skin. Everything
is weighted.
And how did I
manage to walk
before, with
my peripheral
closing in?
Here,
those voices,
those high octave
demands,
come. Lost
between the gates,
and no is a syllable
burned from
the bottom
of a mutinous lung.
I am taffy,
I am time,
I am taut
from life’s lessons.
In every satiated
gullet,
there is another
black eye
waiting
to press in.
Waiting
to press in.
Lannie Stabile, a Detroiter, likens the process of creative writing to spanking ketchup: grueling, but necessary. Works can be found, or are forthcoming, in The Hellebore, Kissing Dynamite, Cauldron Anthology, Monstering, and more. She is penning a novel and chapbook, and recently became Project Manager of Barren Magazine. Twitter handle: @LanniePenland. Writer website: https://lanniepenland.weebly.com
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