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Annabel Gould Aug 2020
***** jug drips on paper  tablecloth       a bowl of eggs & cubed carrots     your name becomes sharp and curled   a dessert knife sound  in three parts   AH NA VEL    it is only said once before the dining room buckles with cigar smoke  and Versace Crystal  
   red caviar smoothed on bread heels    a warfare of sound    perfume and patterned carpet    
a 92 year old woman in sequins and lipstick gives a too loud toast of CHs and Ks       thrashing arms   gulping     a fish with crayon eyeliner       after your dinner is    tooth pain      a bar of homemade soap      sawdust broth     the russian word for   kiss  
  
    next morning you shift through oatmeal packs    in something less than silence     you miss how the words have barbed edges     how their conversations were the sound                 of an unwrapped razor hitting the floor

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