No Such Things As Wings

once worshipped plagiarized protests end in a hospital bed a rind, wracked rotting without filter or veil revoked by both black & white feathers they’ll strain to speak but only squawk and when sleep conclusively comes we’ll see how they plummet towards the angel(s)trumpet of a burgeoning womb nine months later they’ll mewl / wriggle…

The Casio Plays

I want to tell everyone what you did – because then everyone would know who you are. A thumbtack on a map that no one sees, a pussy grabber and self-loathing pedophile, but only for me and my knees in barefaced roleplay. That is me, a slice of pie and poison ivy amid a horror…

White Noise & Kill Bill Sirens

I take two steps towards you. I miss you. I take two steps before falling apart face to face with your apparition, I take two steps          I hesitate,          I take two steps and my eyes dilate their loss in a hallway, your spirit smells like rotten plums…

A Strong Woman

Being called a strong woman has become a personality trait. A label. It’s said in commendation, as a way to stereotype your muliebrity because it sustains evidence of your existence. People pay tribute to you when you are a strong woman. It allows people to assign you value – otherwise, who would you be and…

What Kind of Hands Did The Monster Grow

What kind of hands did the monster grow. A royal flush, peaches and blush blooming epiphanies from the wrinkles in his palms, the desperate twitch of a boy sitting alone and naked in a cold bathtub swallowing soap and scraping food from his nails with loosened baby teeth, begging for his parents attention as they’re…

Proserpina

The blood of old idioms climb my suffering like ivy / feral words that slide from my mouth sound just like you, impersonating the vernacular of your curiosity which trigger how forcefully you squeeze your fingertips into my fossilized knees / you whispered my thighs once belonged to Proserpina I flee from your dirty hair,…

DAMOCLES.

You were born to be a Damocles. It’s in your name / you share the same snake-like entendre     you lure, into love and linger the sword of your lust, provoking strokes of luck into fire and your rotting teeth grind on spongy hearts like punch-drunk birds of prey At dusk, your hands spring into…

Some Men are Witches

Some men are witches, infected with wilderness stubble and smoke, Love that recoils when touched too deep, as if reborn from the darkness of stardust traversing under the church of provocative nomad feet, they run – some men – have spirits in their palms that lay fallen from their chest, thirteen past lives and fire…

The Leaves You Pick Off The Blackberry

He held his breath to them all. The way a bushel of blackberries suddenly appears on the side of the road after you’ve escaped from the city. You steal them by the handful, assuming they don’t belong to anyone except nature – and she owes you – from the countless times she disembodied your hungry…

I am the l o v e r.

I am the lover that will consume you whole, just as you are, filled with lies and guilt, suckling the impressions of your esoteric past your lack of future your selfish present your ugly name and all its consonants, constantly breeding atop my tongue / I paint you in cells / I am the lover…