Ellie Kerry
Three Hands Gouging I
He wears it well, that
Three Hands Gouging.
Three Hands Gouging
orders a black tea.
Three Hands Gouging
cancels a plane ticket.
Three Hands Gouging
dials a sister – Hands,
she says, let me give you
some advice:
when you suck the blood from a cut knuckle, do it quick, or don’t do it at all.
Three Hands Gouging II
Three Hands Gouging, faced with lint,
adjusts nothing.
Three Hands Gouging, relating to you,
relates to me too.
Three Hands Gouging, picturesque,
resists the temptation.
Three Hands Gouging, sleepless tonight,
thinks, “How?”
Three Hands Gouging, rounding down,
crushes a snail.
Three Hands Gouging, though recoiling, finally
rolls on toward truth. His bathroom mirror
curves and filters difference
out again. His fingers warm
to his heart and lungs. His exes look
like tangent lines. In the end, he resolves
Ellie Kerry is an until-recently-Taipei-based poet and essayist. Her poetry is concerned with banality and its others. Her essays are concerned with music theories and histories.
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