Matthew Mahaney

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HARMED SWAN

A harmed swan wears its wound on the left. When it sweeps the lake red it is
facing west. Its strain clones an axe-maker’s music, pinched silk in the sleeve
of my ear. Some greening of the flesh is coming, is an obstacle unraveling.
Under frost is something hesitant. White claws by the hundreds malfunction.

*

ASH FARM

The ash farm unfastens its fence. Soon the soil has hatched a litter. Each in
its own channel unfurls and flexes. Their chatter makes an almost-message. A
bat’s eye viewed. Seeds pressed black in forest light.

*

WARM FAWN

A shape unnamed offends. The snow stained neutral. The fawn now warm.
In the plural space, machinery is taught to mimic how a skeleton unbuckles.

An animal dismantles. Softly, each taxonomy undoes its seamless structure.
There is a splash before the final absence. Can an orchid simply ossify? How
an organ floats. How unflattering.

A small impression steams from some new corner of a cloud.

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