September 1, 2020
Which Was to Come
The shrews leaping in the underbrush, they must smell death Upon me as I smell death upon me, though I’ve washed the Lord’s Grime from beneath my nails and feet, […]
September 1, 2020
{#289-128} Property of the State
: Roxbury Correctional Book Club I Poetry American Journal arrives in a library cart dog-eared to page 18 “the prisoner” as if to start there in media res, dear hayden: […]
September 1, 2020
Humidity
City summers will make you plead, wipe away the act weighing down your skin. Wait for the silk overhead to rip open and pour its torrents in threads suspended in […]
September 1, 2020
o aberto / the open
rega as violetas com a chuva que se infiltrou pela moldura da janela — uma pequena devoção — e espana o inverno da murcha; deixa a morte no chão. sente o calor bafejante, o […]
September 1, 2020
Bagging Mallards
All I wanted was the feathers. A wing or two to sow under Mom’s machine & spread so the wind could carry me out in the Heavens. A home. A […]
September 1, 2020
The Goddess of Scars
I mark you with melanin. A crosshatch of collagen — better the scar than the loss of limb, better the clean line, raised itch, than the festering wound beckoning death. My […]
September 1, 2020
I Have Masturbated Three Days in a Row and Can’t Stop Crying
after Eloisa Amezcua “I break out of my body this way, / an annoying miracle.” — Anne Sexton, “The Ballad of the Lonely Masturbator” I am a perfect animal. I know […]
September 1, 2020
May
Goose shit and babies, weddings and asparagus, so much green, so much flowering and shearing in this season, your body hardly belongs to you. It is pink. Damp. Up to […]