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Louise Peterkin: a poem



fingers


we are faceless nuns with broken television sets in our bellies insectile

smol Lovecraftian* sci-fi beasts of burden when compelled to we scuttle it hurts from the off haber-dash-e-ry hail of the needle prickle leaves a caul of static

above our heads blessed be: our synchrony our blessed bright ability to clutch

: stick stone the stem of a quill Here : our demands printed

on the whorls that would be our brains if weren't so wyrm invertebrate appearance belies us sir we are elegant heretics forget fire air can be cupped anvil = to table = to temple thatonethatone that one sometimes we fall idle

at the sides of moving body this is a smol death sometimes we wake to nothing crushedbytheweightof torso but the blood gives-us–back- to-ourselves Frankenstein* shivers Go team fingers ! : for-mi-dable (say this in French)

except pinkie – feeeeeble – hangs off the side of a teacup like a fairground ride ‘cept old Index gone clean off his head Byronesque* drunk on the click bait clitoral brail of it all except for our foreman says he's the one makes it all possible says he is the one

closest to the god that we hate we hate him we hate him we hate him we hate him: dumb

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Louise Peterkin is a poet from Edinburgh. In 2016 she was a recipient of a New Writers Award from the Scottish Book Trust in the poetry category. She is the co-editor, along with Rob A. Mackenzie, of Spark: Poetry and Art inspired by the Novels of Muriel Spark (Blue Diode Press, 2018). She is an assistant poetry editor for The Interpreter's House. Her poems have appeared in many publications, including The Dark Horse, One Hand Clapping, The Glasgow Review of Books, Magma and The North, and her first collection of poetry, The Night Jar, is out now, published by Salt.

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