• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 07
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The intuit is a log cabin dweller
in warm climes. Unlike his frost brother.
Uncabinned, in moonlight,
he stabs up fish he sees slick up
silvering the downwards river.
Not to eat, just to know
the pulverised insides
the would-be-red
but pinked at every each-second
diluted flesh losing colour in iced water.