At the door the wolves step
backwards into a box. My chained
father attempts to wing himself
with flame. His face hosts
a second face seared by the mental
hazards the wolves find stinky
and reject. Outskirting his heart,
mother dangles the sucked-out
pelts of her wild children. Love
hiss and sexy nightmare. Eros:
an indiscriminate register.
All the bones yarn up.
Sarah Fox co-imagines the Center for Visionary Poetics, and is a doula and teacher. She has won National Endowment for the Arts, Bush Foundation, Jerome Foundation, and Minnesota State Arts Board grants and fellowships.
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