From her hair to her toes,
she’s an unseen secret
walking to the store.
She’s a buried treasure
obscured by oddness
and layers of clothes
that keep her glued together.
Peel it all back,
find a bag of brittle bones
she sold for pennies and pretense,
a haunted house where no one
wants to live.
published in “Alien Buddha Zine #50,” republished on Contemplate
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