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a r d e n   w i l l




I put behind your eyes a familiar terror—

dark veins coded with angel numbers, 


histories peeling sections of you

off the sidewalk, caterpillars 


curled in voids of skin—

Oh moon, your face. It is and it isn’t. 


No one should have more

than one soulmate. We know


the heart in pieces, the moon

in phases, the object lost in the DMs. 


A world too small to be a planet

is set aflame, coughs out half-closed


doors and windows; tears run down

the gutter, where my spell awaits


in funhouse mirrors—mad

smile, warm light, proof of the sublime


created from perpetual ruin, and me

in you, you in me, if only—

arden will is a nonbinary, bisexual poet-disaster who enjoys chocolate chip waffles, glass animals songs, and the rocky horror picture show, preferably all at once. they are editor-in-chief of the winnow and author of acts of performative newness, a mini-chap published by emerge journal in their anthology, "growing pains." they currently live in georgia with their tiny dog, and on twitter where they yell about their favorite things @ardentlywritten.

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