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VAGABOND CITY

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diane khong

Everything, Poetry

IN WHICH I HIDE LOVE LIKE LOCKS IN MY STOMACH FOLDS by DIANA KHONG

in red season, my teeth hang off hingesand i’m tonguing door stops with myknees staked into the linoleum untilyou are home again.you loved me once before i knew whata past tense was and netted myself ina set of skeleton keys, that is my body,i say; i say it — my body is hereyou loved me […]

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