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Emily Shevenock

Residence of New Hollows

I. Clay Motion of Naps

Fragmented, slovenly
under-visions arouse under
the crimp of the eyelashes lulled shut. The crest bone seamed; a ladder tilted
into the fine enclave of ribs
enclosing a male creature of fabricated weight. Draw sound into her,
to a solemn, double-bodied nap.
Lines recede towards a recessed cry.
Earlier heaviness left — wet-nape —
surmise a face of marker, or ballpoint pen. Sleep dealt
the strangest reality of gesturing. Deeper,
the dominion smacked
ripe, open;
earth of the floor saw the luster in fresh eyes.
Knees were first to hit; desires to lick as cat, marvel in sin
to quench by tap and drink, dress in blouses, wear rage in subtle blare,
a silent teeth-mad you assent to deny.
Awaken, version
of mostly telling,
wide, lolly eyes. Stood in the green
entryway, bleached light
hung: Fireshone and split
the day awake. Pathetic, ripe,
a body-stick drafted headless, thus nameless,
blotted out by the hottest artist: Sun.

II. Auspice

Drudge of rooms,
the saintliness thickens of the bedroom.
Wall rinds stipple in places, an advent to the wiry heat. Conversely,
dropping in temperature, the fruit leaking flan
of the blanket —
sections of osprey remnants filter
in slow suspension of furred air.
The body cold and svelte,
clout of her neck, grips the sheet — upwards
and wrapping it to her long, now blueing
white stem.
Serum chills.
Tin body waits, lavish and cold-silver; finally rubbed and eaten supple.
An erotic stillness grinds and behooves;
above it, her hair like the walls,
live and aglow.

III. Residence of New Hollows

Telephone wires
and still.
with objects:
So lax
and gravelstain
went the portrait of us dining through the evening.
Ream cut into
with corrugated spacing;
lilts up day slice,
a cold foliage
sun blue stilts
the creepy sailors manipulating along.
Blandish beacon

in the swatch southward.
Its dimlight drones
then primness,
its cut-cross
then pricks alive grass —
rove away, wary and high at the shed.

Emily Shevenock lives in Brooklyn, New York. Previous writing appears in Primavera and is forthcoming in Burn. contact