Month: November 2017

Flotsam & Jetsam

I want my virginity etched on bathroom stalls. Burned lilac telling a song. Someone waiting for the world to end will find a tune they can carry home. I’d like you to pause at the symmetry. Beautiful when broken. Walls tainted by flesh tainted by my song. Meant to regurgitate the last thing you ate? Blow. Blow where no man has blown before. My innards are his and his are yours. If it tastes funny, you’re doing it right. Fingers slapping fingers swallowing tongues. It’ll come to you how you entered this world, sick of the V between your...

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Two Poems

father figure flowered in tumors, in the end, only evil found your soiled soul fertile. tonight, i have conjured the witch and brought you back to life, and, daddy, it was easy. you are dead, yet forever, still, you swim in my blood. perhaps if you had a grave, perhaps you’d be laid to rest, perhaps if god was a god who suffered fuckboys. that text to jesus in the last days? revelations and a three-headed beast, when the ghost gets ghosted, when the answer to bent knees and pathetic prayers be, new phone, who dis. daddy with the...

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men go to bed with Gilda

after the life & words of Rita Hayworth but wake up with me a rabbit with no hind legs, a girl with no hood: a skull shaped like a war head, or a waning moon, or a pistol. you know, the kind we women carry at our pretty little hips, you know, the gilded kind, the kind you could own, like they owned me. like they owned my false name, my Rita, my worth, like they could carve new light in my powderkeg skull, fostering a fatal wound in me, the fatal woman. but buddy, have I got news...

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The clouds the clouds the clouds

I am Lake Michigan & you are a woman dog-paddling in Lake Michigan. I have no arms & I have no legs & you are nothing but arms & legs. The waves are scripture & do you remember the first time we open-mouth kissed? Do you remember all the tourists stamping their feet & trying to scare us...

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Losing It

It was the summer of 1984 and all my friends were losing it. Senior year in high school was when they all lost their virginity. S lost it with her Indian boyfriend on the floor in her parent’s study while they were eating in the dining room; N lost it with Keith, who also hit her and left bruises; L lost it with her boyfriend who drove a garbage truck just like her father. I wouldn’t be losing anything but my car keys for two more years. I had just turned 17 and was getting sick of hearing “I...

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