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Corporeal

Dedicated to and with help from the writers studying abroad in Rome, Autumn 2018


From the relinquished pavilions
& moth-eaten stone

To the cigarette cemeteries
Between the street cobbles

Rome knows how to make us remember
Our own mortality

With its museum rooms of epigraphy
And rows of sarcophagi

That are decorated
With their own amputated heroes.

There’s a demise always in the distance
When even rock gives way to putrefaction.

But then again nothing gets
So brutally beneath the skin

Or do a better job than
The dead cat on the road:

Swelled belly
In a dried puddle of plasma

Squeezing eyes and
Guts like decadent jam

And the rest left to rot.

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