Cardinal we are crouching overa rabbittrying to discernthe cause of death tangle of innardsbrocade of purplespleen hot breathof flesh crampedcentipede of thesmall intestine the dashed cardinalof its open throat indigo-soaked andsteaming runic my tongue lying heavyin my mouth squeezing musclesin sequence the sound of grass and violettearing from the tap-root Blood Count the cold ofContinue reading “Jane Hartshorn: ‘Cardinal’ and ‘Blood Count’”
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