basement sect sacrifices the beyond
ate that bond armor
at dusk filled doctrine fists
by throwing it
up-sided down
look at that shake
on shelves – door-to-door
He was never there
ratted thrones make ice tea
or is she a bitch?
psh – that’s right, cowgirl
we’ll grab pizza squares
to the next door, drag-on
it was real, wasn’t it
was it too loud – or quick
i could never tell
cult, cult, cult
you hated every drop
wrinkling to your walk
when did the Goliaths get in
the night before that picked path
yeah, i said it
bush fire, bush fire, bush fire
hands over explosive book(s)
the wine killed itself again
whisper that shit
cock that face-loaded
then skip dinner to piss in bed
fuck sales, man
virginity cost money to have
only if there is extra icing
hear that – in the back
it’s that tick again
howl at the wall, wall
she will hear you – promise
white lace is gross
it means rape – rape
HA – no – no
she loved his gun shot
with shy wrists and gums
fuck harder screamed
died, olive, open cornfield
burn it down to the circle
left-hand hawkeyes sass stars
the sound of gravel haunts me
slippery sleep, even now
trees wave at your shook
armchair gives pins and pens
look, they have no windows
unsee color ties to knee-length skirts
what was taken, who
look around for them – run
downstairs was potato chips and
deep sex couches with sharks
rush home for porridge
did the umbrella teeth suck you
lucky bastards of masks
decades of yellow linens
they cursed the vagina
of premediated apples leaning
dark days are here
sautéed skin looks good on you
ring the buzzer – ring
universe of my university
make it to the mock treasure
smell the menstrual blood from here
beat passion with past pickles
don’t worry – they’ll escape
horse, horse, horse, horse man
when do I deserve to die
I just wanted to be a cat
He took the pussy
by mouth-of-word
tomorrow their giants arrives
servants are donut holes – but happy
she surfs papercuts – He licks them
everyone blinks every time
downtown hell, of course
shimmer shit like tin washboards
did the sparkler fade dreams too
seems like it, songs
hard candy fought silk flowers yesterday
the pencil sharpener walked out
Tuesdays are the worst
and Thursdays
when did your belly button break
own hand, me down on red
fountain of flakes with touching
tickle to low suffocation scared
right, all of them robbed
eyeballs, meet tongue
Image: Geode” by Jasmine C. Bell