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I dreamed I had a clockwork scorpion who scuttled slowly about my limbs in black shiny armour.
Japanned like a sideboard, rock hard in my hands but friendly as a budgie on my shoulder, a remotely controlled conversation piece.
Upturning this black turtle I switched my new pet off at the belly battery like a walkie-talkie doll.
But the scorpion who had gained in confidence and stealth chattered and spun quickly around the room too fast to track with the naked eye.
Rally driving claw clicking snap-jawed like a set of false teeth incising across carpet.
Then taking to flight it launched itself at my neck and knocked me clean off my feet.
letting go by living
learning to breathe
tricks of the trade in those spaces without you
a clamp firmly about my ribs.
Something about the cut goblet, beaker flute, flagon that turns an honest girl into a thief.
Rolling in my palms testing weight imagining the taste each shape will assume.
Minerals made complicit slipping tumblers into pockets high-balls down my legs each token shot illicit.
Emergency emergence somewhere undetected: dormant, quiet, damp.
Pushes a hand from the light in the stomach.
Tests a finger in the air.
I kept the baby in my pocket sheathed in paper aluminium foil.
Willow branches declare starts.
Each tiny day the serrated lid of a new country.
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