She soaked her feet in Epsom salts to encouraging blistering, and to harden the callus that grew like scats on the heels of her feet. Her toenails curled up at the ends like birds’ talons, yellow shale, sharp and cetaceous. The barbs and hooks gibed her stockings, tearing through nylon, flay and skin.
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- Stephen Rowntree
- "Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz
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2 comments:
that might require horse hoof trimmers.
Congrats on ploughing insomnia and discomfort (or memories of) to profit at litbits.ca.
Have you seen NFB docu Bloomsday Cabaret (2005)? public library has it.
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