an Aotearoa poetry journal | ISSN 2744-3248

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Tarot #07
Tarot #06
Tarot #05
Tarot #04
Tarot #03
Tarot #02
Tarot #01

Nest

No, nothing makes sense anymore—
Only this. Words on the page, letters
With which (I am unsure of
To whom) I call. To where
This sentence, this line leads—
Sterilised. Fettered youth hums herself
Out of existence. No white
Carriage, no, no white
Dress, nor baby’s flesh—No.
Only this white page, alien
Syllable nest, words with which
I burn bleach cradle image to the death.