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Writer's pictureDanielle Pryor

Conversing With Bodies



The colors: grey and black and white

The robot head- it sees the souls watching

the flesh devour its bone.

Limbs are trapped within another’s

Whose belong to whom?

Does it matter?

A leg is a leg- and what if I want yours?

In this mess of skin and bone

We’re tangled-

Who’s here to say I can’t take

It and run. Oh wait-

My limbs are non-existent

There are more here than we can

Possibly need though. Who did you steal

them from? They are not mine,

they are not yours

A leg is a leg.

You look like you want to escape and so-

The lingering souls have stolen our flesh

What will keep our bones warm now?

Your eyes are barren, gazing towards the

heatless sun;

can’t you see, everyone is dying.

Colors fade into nothing now.

What is color? You ask.

It’s something you see, bright and vivid-

It gives life to the dead.

I see Darkness.

Maybe there’s no such thing as color- Then what is in my head?

What is color? I ask.

The limbs continue to hold their ground-

Cemented into place

Refusing to meet the same fate

As the heads and torsos they were once

Married to.

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