Her arm was left out the window all night clamped at the pit which throbbed her heart hammering to do its job straining for the tiny capillaries going blue about the nail beds
her arm flapped on the growing wind which stayed just below hurricane to piss off the weathermen it became coated with milky ice fingers locked in a position to hold nothing
her arm was preserved after her body died of starvation it remained plump and perfect ready to hold a baby or stroke a flower pluck a stone from God’s own peach it waited for that painful sensation to return to tell it old life would return but realized there’s a last time for everything
a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
Jesus in the devil’s dress- I call you needles and pines…creature of flesh, no flowers, brown eyes or dyed eyes, I rock you into your foundation tonight, no clouds hover in your heart, a binding of mint moss around, your