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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

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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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