Ian Cappelli

[Disarticulated Prose Poem]

[Disarticulated Prose Poem]

while quarantining, you wear the partitioned office room of asummer home, lent to you as charity so you would not infectyour grandmotherYou are told to not rummage through the office room’s items.That the homeowners are “private people.”after the buccal surgery, our last guest appeared as if a wraithin the thickness of the sauna mottled weave …

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