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Candace Holmes

11 Oct Candace Holmes

UNTITLED



everybody is getting drunk and wondering
is this what it feels like to be normal and
the answer is No

i’m hiding some part of every
nonexistent timeline in my liver
an aquarium with every you

you could have been watching this you
the softest people pretend to be hard
sometimes

but sometimes it’s the opposite be careful
when i eat something i never feel
full i acquire its hunger i am swollen

a fat white cloud trying to snow trying
to return something stolen from earth
back to its home with squirming music

i curl myself around the skulls of people
who love me to soften the blizzard vibrations
of my particles trying to leave

 

HERE, THE SKY IS DIFFERENT


the sky here is different. he said he memorized the pattern in my iris in case he ever has to identify me using only my eyeballs. living 7 hours in my future, i guess he knows what will kill me. and of course the only thing left of me will be a part he couldn’t touch.

his hands are so soft they aren’t skin i swear they’re magnetic fields. they’re skin ground up into powder then rearranged back into the form of a hand. but the soft hands can’t keep me from returning to the big shoulders, the broad shoulders.

can his small intestine’s whale songs carry across the atlantic ocean? or can he send me the powder that makes up his hands, bottle by bottle, until he’s beached and stranded ashore? no. my beach has no salt. no.

the sky is different here. nobody believes me but i know, because i memorized it, so when the earth dies i can identify it by just looking at the sky.


 

Candace Holmes lives in Chicago where she studies Finance and works at a butcher shop. She self-published the chapbook things i watched on netflix while i was cripplingly depressed and some of her other work can be found in Potluck Magazine, Moloko House, Fruita Pulp, and Electric Cereal.

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