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By Jennifer K Dick, after Sawako Nakayasu's "Transluscent Ant Skin" posted 7 Oct 2007. This post is from 8 Oct 2007.
Not the skinned ant in the lion’s den or the apple peel. The tingling legs of the helicopter or were they blades? Who is the being that can see me, for instance, truly glowing? The red airbrushed translucence : morning indelicateness, fuchsia lilies powdering the closed throat of me inside, breathless, away from.
For that matter, she has been hard at work for hours on her most recent catch: tadpoles. She has frog fear and orange butterflies flagrantly nodding against her ear. A single anything might emerge, but instead we are caught in masses of ants, herds, hurdles, huddles of park picnics sprouting their own demise on knobbly green lawns.
You might admire the crescent of that half-orange, there, moulding in the underbrush, but I know the leaves will come running soon. Auburn flakes rattle against our voices, call cavernous caving hibernators inside stony apartments. A flatline, a chime caterwauls. Not only this crisp rustle of praying mantis paws held forth in delight, but the sandpaper exfoliating my thin remains.
Monuments to voices, predators, spindly furry eggs of a tarantula : Where is the (her) (my) universe of the ant in all his miles? My gaze merely the glass tower of Torino. Vertigo. What aquatic blues are silkscreened over the curtains in an enclosure? Walkways toward transportation systems. A respiratory line the crumbs marry me back to, forth, industrious as I am.
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