by Cornelia Mars

The misleading appearance

of a solid entity
is the result
of a slight hand.
Micro-expressions emitted quick
don’t betray a porous nature.
In actuality, these bodies
are maimed remnants
of an irresistible attraction
to something bigger and darker –
torn apart by an exponentially
stronger grasp.

To exist, they attached themselves
to a bright core, however elusive
(a ghost, maybe a furious child
bred from perturbation),
stretched their needy arms.
The orbiting embrace
has positioned a kernel
that will eventually (by the velocity of its desire)
rule as a heart, an impenetrable master,
a horrifying raison d’être.

Starved in a constellation
and at the point of no return
you won’t reveal any information
beyond your horizon –
you are a bright compact emission
that leaves nothing. You might kill,
grow, collapse me into this.


Crowned Miss Sweden in 2003,
Cornelia Mars can unknot linguistic tongue twisters and wield knives in a pub kitchen AT THE SAME TIME.

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