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loose strife

I will not say its name. The way it ruined me. The body halved, a kind of     mitosis,     suddenly

everything  on  the cellular level as if sentient, the potatoes growing eyes in the  dark

under the sink. The way Lysimachus, for whom the invasive is named, walked      and     walked

through the terrible burning, the emotion openly disfiguring his face   the   way   a   lover

will sometimes turn directly toward the beloved in that other language,      the      thing

shuddering   under   the skin  until  it floats up into  the  light  with  all the  colors  of   ephemera

and bursts. There was a maze. There was a photograph of the night sky   taken   over  several

hours, the stars like scratches on a record. As far as I know there is no unified  theory  as to why

it  exists  except  the theory of the animal, the theory of glands and secretions.     It     comes

when it comes and if fortunate it comes without end. The lesser vertebrates                rub

themselves in its musk, coat themselves in its glory. It ruined me and I let  it. Hands  held  above

my head as if under arrest.

Quan Barry

Gulf Coast

Summer / Fall 2013

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