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“What is the best and worst sexual experience you’ve had?” was the question prompted by a viral New York Times article stating the 36 questions that can supposedly lead to love in relationships. All of us New York City transplants were out at a bar when this conversation enveloped us: four straight-identifying men, one woman – we’ll call her K – who was currently exploring her sexual identity and married to one of the men, and me—the unabashed bisexual. MORE


The thing about flying across the country is that the time change never helps you. You’re either tripping backward or forward in hours, exhausted or confused. It was New Year’s Day and I was hungover on a packed airplane going from New York City to Los Angeles to retrieve one of my closest friends, Anna. She was getting a divorce from her husband and needed a road trip buddy for the ride back to our shared home state of Indiana. Trying to be a good friend and being an intense road trip lover, I, of course, said yes.

Anna’s marriage ended for many reasons, but what accelerated the demise was deciding to have an open marriage. I am also in an open marriage, and immediately felt hurt that this was the reason she gave for her marriage’s death. Like many woman with a particularly strict Catholic upbringing, Anna believed that she is only as valuable as the strength of her devotion to her relationship.

Meanwhile, in the bliss of escaping a hangover and gnarly loved ones, I sat as far back as I could in my non-reclining middle seat, to make an attempt at contemplating the events of the previous night’s so-called celebrations. The shitty thing about leaning on my old coping mechanism of drinking heavily to deal with upsetting surroundings is that it led me to not just to foggy memories but gaping grief. READ MORE

basement sect sacrifices the beyond

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