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Each poem is a redaction of a different page of Geraldine Brooks' March and as such interrogates the existential dread surrounding the civil war and its aftermath.
to swim under flesh
on calmer hands,

a funeral scaffolds a hill,
the fallen mass of wounded.

the sermon on damnation
is coming.

enterprise has so much
blood.
i could
devour

utilitarian
games,

heirloom bits
of matter,

that beautiful,
abrupt departure.

acquisitions
as prefaces.