Listen to the palpitating of this horse / heart and I will answer in the language // underneath this skin.
Once, I offered pieces of myself to every man—my hands, my coins, my words—
There’s nothing quite so sinister as a hot wind on a California night.
Last week I / courted the moon from a stop sign.
I found you bitty in a snap pea, plucked you out and swallowed you whole, / rivered your body through my insides and grew it quietly. What bad men? we say.
You’re not the one in the bathtub with screams stuffed like wet rags down her throat, the girl who eats herself inside out with silence, who so desperately needs some help right about now but does not want to be a bother.
the kind that stinks like shit & empties you. to say i can’t, for whatever reason, take this shit, but for days now have felt like i need to.