After the lahar baptized these lands,
our mouths became extinct volcanoes—
you coughed a soul-shaped pumice.
A potential sound is not a sound
at all. After I ran out of my skin, I polluted
the paisley atmosphere with my torrid
aura. These moments transpired
like Faberge eggs that crack
out another smaller egg, and that egg
a smaller egg until you have an exorcism
to get the me out of me, a paper ghost, huffing
at stars before the sky waxes into statue.
Geramee Hensley is from Cleveland, Ohio. He attends Capital University where has taught a portion of a creative writing class. He is the Co-Editor-in-Chief for the student literary magazine, ReCap and Managing Editor for the student newspaper, The Chimes. His work has been featured in Souvenir Lit Journal, Melancholy Hyperbole, The Harpoon Review, and is forthcoming in JAB.
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