Whose imagination birthed you?

The handiwork of stolen 

books, a patchless quilt

a stranger’s kindness

resting on the shoulders

of each patient lover. I got 

excellent taste, everyone I touch

unmakes me. Perhaps 

there is a knack to this

melting in a mouth, sniffing 

out the better God, settling for 

my highest self. I cool smooth 

in countless ways. Fresh to death 

I die each day. It’s birthright

tussling with the reaper

brewing neater alchemies

dissolving in the silk we’ve spun.

Kosi Dunn is a writer from Mitchelville, Maryland. He likes cherry blowpops and Pokemon fan hacks.  

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