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No (thing is) right
by Ankh Spice
No (thing is) right​
Who told this calm day
it had any right
to reel delicate and radiant
when I am dissolving hard
Who said
that when a person falls
to pieces, there must be noise –
screaming, sharp edges
The only sounds here are distant
the quiet, ordinary tide
and a long, soft keening -
the wounded ape in me
calling, calling
Ankh Spice
Ankh Spice is a poet from New Zealand, who is obsessed with the sea. He is a survivor of various asylums, and writes mostly because he has been unsuccessful hiding his lack of skin. His work continues to breathe (even when it hurts), and has exhaled recently in Black Bough poems, Pixel Heart Magazine, and Burning House Press.
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