Samantha Jones | Issue 16
Crybaby | Poetry
Dear red-rimmed eyes, squint shut and let those crow’s feet grow a little deeper. Trenched into this delicate skinscape— a diversion, canals that carry water and salt and fat and proteins over the rise of my cheek. Lay out a shimmering strip reaching for my ear: In the morning I’ll try to mine it for potash. I’m a cryba…
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