:: gil garratt ::

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:: bio ::


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3

throbbing
jagged
it bobs and weaves on the edge of patience,
this stone
in 
you.

( icy )
it numbs giddy tongues
disables nimble fingers
it
lays on this small bed
between us
and there is no reasoning w/ it.

( lodged )
It only speaks rock.
I'm at a loss.
I mean I speak a few words in liquid
try to stream over it but
it
won't be diluted.

( solid )
The sheets are pinned to the mattress
it's too heavy to lift
too heavy to pry, shift,
too heavy to beg.

Use my heart as a lever
under its
jagged throbbing
wedged
pressing,
it cries.

(please, no)

This cold refugee gasping at the shores
of our new love,
it's old fingers
grip
the pebbles
pleading.


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5


:: bio ::



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