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29 LINES
7:21am on the train tracks; brambles have eaten through the sleepers, and we lay bodies to bridge the gaps. my spine crackles, iron-hot, beneath the scree and steam-song. there are ball joints in my fingers. they clutch at yours, creaking…
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41 LINES
/ˈɡænɪmiːd/ i. Greek god (in this poem cyborg) —A Trojan boy who was abducted, and ultimately became immortal in order to be Zeus’s (in this poem His country’s) cupbearer. ii. A boy (in this poem cyborg) kept for pederastic purposes. An alienated memory…
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32 LINES
i speak only of beautiful things, i told the eagle on my stomach. it pecked out my liver—a kindness. it stopped the fire from reaching lower. so girl means fire. i took fire from Him, and in turn He locked…
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20 LINES
Brighton Pier, burnt down and always burning down. Salt channel, red dress made for more clement weather, fire farflung from the wreckage caught round my waist. Pale sunlight, chalk sisters cleaving to the east. The hegemonic world and a hedgewitch…
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35 LINES
I place the string in your hand, beaded with moments of sensorium and place, caught, time held witness. Your fingers rub them, your face like a prayer, wondering. A series of tiny worlds in whole and part, this world— Up too early,…
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22 LINES
I am not bloodstained robe, nor distorted animal mask. Grandma is lying on the ground, says there is a little girl inside me. I am not coconut peeled to nurture the dead, the moss-blue tumble of water, ghost music. The…
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27 LINES
Winter: my electric microwave room is turning me into jerky. I lift the fleece sheets and prick my finger on a barb of lightning; I try on a slipper, and static punctures my sole. Back in bed, I watch the ceiling rotate, my head growing lighter as its…
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34 LINES
I unzip you from cave mouthto sex-craved stomach, spillingyour brown flesh coatto the sides. I’m eye to eyewith your teenagethoughts, each stored safeon the shelves of your ribs. I run my fingers along the bonesof bunched-up underwear,an old shower head,…
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48 LINES
see: tender, suspended at the tip of arm hairs that never darkened never hearkened or grew the tangle of my father’s muscle the way he mangled through skin under thin bindings, not yet bone: a bicycle wheel, unsteady ecliptic starsign,…
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82 LINES
It’s 3am when the bot knocks on my door And he looks like a man, but I can tell he’s a bot from the way he stands there Stiff like his body is the ex-girlfriend he had a painful and…