poem: breasts and eggs

she is standing in the stairway -- red overalls and shinyblack hair dancing around her neck in the lopped-off way that i always wanted (when i cut my hair shortit is a tempest, a misery.) she is maybe forty, she lookstwenty-five. i want to ask her: why is itwhen i have just gotten overone thing,…

poem: the artist in hell, justified

she is perfectly halved: she is pouring black paint into the mouths of strange boys, her body all light under the strobe lights, her neck cut into diamond pieces by the sex moans made by singers too punk to be human. And she is reading at the window ledge her feet curled under a skirt…

poem: softer, lighter, postmodern uwu

she is a protagonist: running up the apartment steps, a scarf beautiful and warm on her face, her hair dripping from the rain. she likes old cafes, old music and dead men; she keeps cats, reads books, drinks tea; But, lucky for the academy, this is a satire directed by a foreigner: she is shopping…