our fate on the end of a chain
cold oval locket, heirloom
engraved in loops
around a cursive:  this

silver shell for sweetness
heavy as the axe’s blade
which guides the killer’s body
made killer for a wage

in fifteen words or worse
remember this is what we earned
makes us killers in a way
history corners us in this

rends my chest off my
hinges and unmasks
this unplugged heart

from my trembling ribs
I hang tenderly with twine
lavender and copper bells

just one act
of breathing

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