poem: young love is a horror flick

I will make you my let-down song; so that when you are stuck in my head— I am sitting on the edge of swimming pools my feet in the water, the water going red. it's not blood—don't worry, this is not another sadistic, sardonic poem. it is only pink nail polish, melting in the water,…

poem: the unexpected boy, the girl rewriting her ghosts

I do not believe men speak to smart women as women. They talk to us as men, as nameless faceless hommes d'affairs: we are leaning against the conference desk, in a (power) suit, with pin-tacks in our neck and the unfortunate addition of long hair, breasts, adultery. The young adult novels lied: there is nothing…

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: la femme n’est pas l’art

the persephone concepts, pt. 2 all hail the romantics: Persephone left the city and walked into her womb. all hail the romantics: she found him in a graveyard cleaning stones with his tongue she is too much spring, she is lonely. Death is kind to the Female, to the lost, to the waiting and the…

poem: la femme n’est pas politique

the persephone concepts, pt. 1 Persephone voted for a fascist; they killed her in the street. later, it came out that the fascist was a woman. they resurrected Persephone, gave her a medal, ripped open her vagina and sold her blood in jars.

poem: crush

you were not supposed to do this to me. this is not fair, this is not what I wanted. please get out of my mind and stay brilliant somewhere else. Don't you understand? Everywhere you are and I am, there is so much in the air, I cannot breathe: Color still chokes. soft death is…

poem: summer fruit in the city

so is this what it takes? we are not meant to speak of the inner life, the girls falling like apples; it should all be chaste: small stories of people kissing in stations and camps, her glory fluttering under your hands, her becoming all raw and red. you thought you were a god because she…

poem: “guess what? i’m not a robot”

what we have is not social justice, it is not even justice. i am sitting alone on the ground, there is blood around my legs and you are gate-keeping, putting your hands between my brain and my spine and pulling out the pins, tacking me up like a dead flower, a dead girl, ice cream…

poem: pastel lust

you walked by and i, sitting in jeans and tee-shirt was suddenly a virgin in a field, my legs open over grass my fruit open and falling the daisy heads indented into my thighs, small red faces, matching mine; can you hear the water falling, the girl becoming?  

poem: the downsides of unrequited

i try to read but stare out the window. everything is raw and warm: the sky is touching lips with the snow. i try to read; i ignore the wet slowly spinning between my legs, i shift in the chair and wait for the boy   i do not think about thick, ripe peaches falling…