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  • Temp Job
  • Olivia Sio Tse (bio)

Then I dress, reduced to the adorableand ornery. Perpetual prism of gigs            disguised

as cherries in a bag. Come over, ghostcomposer, and sweep these cowlicks            down.

Salt crusts the curb far from home. Anoise sasses the forehead, making us            devour

more prom and run for the lot: missedrent, mother will not move, popped a            tire.

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Again I surf the listings. With gaps big enough to pore through, the quiltis basically a net, not a cover. And what use for a cover but weight. Whatuse for covers but illusion of true topology.

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How else to discern what whirs? Thatresists a comb and gets our generator            going

could be tendril or a bird, fists soft forimprobable punch. We cannot be more            watts.

I want to take you by richer tissuedebloat our cheeks of dynamo then            fuse.

It made sense until I stopped humming.It did make sense until I turned off the            stream. [End Page 86]

Olivia Sio Tse

Olivia Sio Tse's poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Second Factory, Bennington Review, and Brink. She is a recent graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop.

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