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Here Is People (formerly the lucky forever freefallers)

Elizabeth Hildreth

Last night I was loose and everything
was better than it was. I army crawled
through the trees deaf/blind/rubbed
my bones against a bear–a metaphor
for honey and heavy and hairy–and
breathed and licked a small incision–
what I felt must be flowers.

I braced it with blocks, shoved it under
a mammoth rock, but the world never stops
coming in, with its nurses in neat white
hats and a floor I can see my face in.

Every day starts like this.

With a dream.

Or two.

One. I'm eating you.

When I finally get my mouth
cranked open like a speculum
I'm yawning valleys,
we're bursting into fireflies.

The headline:
Fireflies, a First:
Say There's No God Now.

Two. I'm in heaven.

Wearing jeans, and so
is Jesus. Jesus is so jealous
of my jeans, Jesus is he jealous.
Little does he know this is
the only thing I can get into.

The headline:
Jesus Wants What Lady Got.

I would love to but I can't go on.
I can't make myself.
I don't even keep screws
around the house anymore.

The morning smells like toast.
It's so real.

I have less than an hour before
Here is People.

Elizabeth Hildreth

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