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Karen Kevorkian


The Wound

I try to admire my skin changing beneath my eyes looser each year when I touch it not unlike the flesh of my ribs when I rub my hands down or that of my breasts when I appreciate their plumpness Like hers they are lightly nippled and small each filli [...]

How I Imagined It

Who shall measure the heat and violence of the poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body? In nightgown white surrounded by the crickets' wet silence There was either no roof or I could see through it the sky violet flamingo cerulean I s [...]