A poem written for Cecilia Tan’s competition for a copy of her book, Spellbinding. Under a cut because it contains one of those forbidden words of power.

Pound it thin like
mouths on chipped wood,
on glossy paper and pixels,
and it will slip away
at the break of dawn
between puddles and lamplight.

Forget it behind a bookcase
among dust and candy wrappers,
busy yourself with other things
until all you remember is the memory
of remembering its shape,
and when it comes calling
you’ll see a monster where your friend once stood
and taste his blood in your cunt.

It may brush against your leg in the dark
It may knock you down
It may carry you with it
to the slime-bedecked sea
but it is yours.

It breathes.
You hear it.


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