body diagram

some days, I draw a canonic
nude of the body as an s.

I replace the fingers
for clovers and mistake them

for quiet as it looks
on days where sometimes

there are no cicadas & it’s silent.
on paper, I graft the spine

from the neck, brooked to the right lung,
towards the lacuna,

an inch to the middle. beneath
it, there’s the vermin’s pylorus, how a nude

should be, really, exposed & easy
to touch. the ribs’ tongue is spitting

a limb, a bone, makes a language
not theirs: enough to kill

another rib the size of a human torso
shrunk like jerky, dry-twisted. the body’s jargon

is not a computation
of the transitive, how the property

makes an A the length of a B as a C.
no, here an A is not a B, nor

a C, not an armor, but agape
and squalled. i pencil in the skin

as an eggshell, & nearby an attester
cavils till its mouth cracks like bones.

already, the body has mated.

Alisha Yi is a writer from Las Vegas, Nevada.

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