GUTSHOTtoo much bruise out of nowhere, too much my body hurting my body. too much nightmare in the night. too much your hands, too much I quake. at sundown, at the edge of scorching, too much like kerosene, too much I become a puncture for mending. GROWLI walk uphill, frighten myself with sequins, with shrieking—I chase after, scissors and glisten. whenever my hunger, when it takes me, I eat—one tablet by mouth, the hills go shhhhh and homeward, how I rattle, split underneath—a cutlet soaking for the butcher ✱✱✱
|
Archives
March 2020
Categories
All
|