Lord, late though I am, slide the lathe
And shape, shave me. Shear me wraith-
Slim, slave-thin; flay the skin in moth-
Wings off my soul’s loathed sheath. Wrath-
Ripe as I am, pluck me, pulp me. Filth
That I am, bathe me. Faith,
Be water; Father, help me drown.
I cannot breathe until you force me down.

Articles by Amit Majmudar

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