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Origin

  • Katherine Duval
  • Jun 29, 2020
  • 1 min read

I felt the cell trauma—go back, go back—where the brain floats in cytoplasm, fledgling, scared—retell, retell—electric pulse in the womb existence, not yet formed but I always was—before the birth, before the language—here’s my little pinkie finger from the fall—severed but living in the time jar—no decay, forward myth.

 
 
 

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