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Blowhole I trace your god-trance Your salt, a vesper whispered Cunt. Yet my hollow with just the tip. on your fingers and spread as I risk drowning. My head a hydra, to be overrun. Museum Someone opened the graveyard’s Grey. Ash. Cetacean On your bones your lungs until you spit fire. Should I hang for fathers to point out etchings, stirred to plunder It’s time to cast new gods and gore. Rajiv Mohabir is the winner of the 2014 Intro Prize by Four Way Books for The Taxidermist’s Cut (Spring 2016). He received his MFA from Queens College and is currently pursuing his PhD from the University of Hawai`i. contact • blog
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