God of the cuffs, key clenched in the apse your mouth makes. God of dead aphids greening the rose whose thorns furrow me. Call me seed. As in: all I’m good for. Yes, I promise…
Posts tagged Dog Days of Poetry
on the back of the receipt
do you think i could stay here just a few nights– i won’t make any noise– i will bury myself under these woodchips– i will rake the leaves in the morning– i won’t ever use…
“we’ve eaten the ozone again” and “the sound of burning paper mâché”
we’ve eaten the ozone again now, the only ethical source of consumption in america is the dream. i awake with oil clotting menstruation-like between my toes, sealing me to the bed already wet with bloody…
“Field with Miscarriage” and “Segmentation Notes”
Field with Miscarriage Your body spills acrossthe wheat. Empty husked, silver podded. Glisteningbefore dark. Your ash clings like blame to my fingers,the cellophane bag we brought you home in.Terrible, to choke on your airborne body,…
Gone Rogue
In middle school, our hygiene teacher Mrs. Miller warned the girls about rogue sperm: they infest all the swimming pools and ponds, they inhabit the shower (don’t take one after…