I know this sounds weird but I wonder what my bed sheets say about me when Iʼm not around.
I wonder what the curtains would do if they found out about all the things Iʼve done behind their back.
I have a hamper thatʼs overflowing with really, really loud mistakes
and a graveyard in my closet.
Iʼm afraid if I let you see my skeletons,
youʼd grind my bones into powder and get high off my fault lines.
Wishing I were bigger than these moments,
smothered in hands, passing through my old bodies,
shedding a luscious fur that drips from my shoulders
like a whore in a girlie magazine, wishing I were greater
than desire, so over its poesy whatever, wishing you hadn’t
left me in June, wishing you were here, kissing me goodbye
in the porch light. It’s a sweet montage, we’re laughing ugly
and smiling at each other,the night expanding like a lung.
So we drive with all the windows down,
grinning into the blue, legs crossed, not both of them mine,
the car sliding down the road like a streaming blotch
on a reel of film. Lying on Sol’s couch, soft and molted,
palming my phone, your phantom weight on my stomach,
trying to send this, hoping at the very least to startle you into love,
not love with me, but love as a verb,
hoping you’ll see the bullshit in that sentence,
regretting this already.
This is not what the door’s for—slamming
you up against, opening
your legs with my knee. And it isn’t
leaving, the thing I keep doing
with my shoes still on, or in the car
in the driveway in broad
daylight after waving
goodbye to your neighbors
again. But my body’s a bad
dog, all dumb tongue
and hunger, down
on all fours again, tied up
outside again, coming
when called but then always refusing
to stay. I know what I’m trying
to say, but it isn’t
talking, the thing that I do with my mouth
to your ear, even though
we got the orifices right. To leave
I would have to put clothes on,
and they’d have to fit better
than all of this skin. To leave
I would have to know where to begin:
like this, pressed up
against the half-open window? Like
this, with my foot on the gas? If seeing
is believing then why isn’t touching
knowing for sure? I just want my nerves
to do the work for me, I don’t want
to have to decide. There’s blood in my hands
for fight and blood in my legs
for flight and nowhere
a sign. Believe me, I’ll leave if you just
let me touch you again for the last
Ali Shapiro, “I Keep Trying to Leave You but the Sex Just Gets Better and Better” (via contramonte
GOD IS A CHILD NO ONE WANTS TO PLAY WITH
i. The Palm
ii. René Lacoste
nicknamed “the Crocodile”
embroidered himself on
the chests of many young athletes
however did he ever kill anyone
and if so in what ways
iii. “Tennis Court”
years of standing in a foggy cul-de-sac
with his mother’s red lipstick smeared across
his pretty mouth
v. All-white: tennis shoes,
socks, shorts, t-shirt, walls
All-black: tennis shoes,
socks, shorts, backpack, fleece
vi. Does it hurt? Does it
sitting on that bed all this time?
vii. Not as Anne Carson writes—
"not touching, but joined in astonishment
as two cuts lie parallel in the same flesh”—
"When you stood before the gates of hell, / all the beasts lowered their heads" omg!!!
ahh thank u! i changed the wording like 50x.
When death reached out its hand,
you should have cowered. When you felt the
flames of hell licking at your insides, you were not
supposed to draw closer to the fire.
I watched you disembowel the Earth, saw you pluck
flowers from your mother’s garden and gouge
your fingers into its open wounds,
trying to pry secrets out from the soil.
Everything green started to shrivel
and die when I entered the meadow, but you didn’t
flinch away; instead you kissed me voracious,
like I was something dark you’d tugged
out of reluctant soil.
I wanted your hands, still caked in dirt,
pressing into my naked back.
I thought you’d understand me. Both of us
wanting what we shouldn’t. I know your mother
must have warned you about gods like me.
Tell her I am not a selfish lover. Tell her how
I kneel at your altar and crush the berries
of your hips into wine. That I worship you.
That we spread each other open like flowers
blooming in the night. You wanted to see
what paradise looked like drenched in moonlight,
so I brought you home with me.
When you stood before the gates of hell,
all the beasts lowered their heads
and bowed at your feet.
Everything I have belongs to
you — my wife, my queen.
You are so much flesh and blood,
so much heaving, pulsing, breathing life.
You make the death in me tremble.
I am forever yours.
'Hades' | Anita O.
You found me, mouth like a pomegranate
picking flowers in my mother’s field.
An invitation of sorts.
You took it as one and spent five months
thinking about slipping your fingers into my mouth.
I think the Earth changed the day we met,
It had been waiting for you to bare your teeth
and swallow me whole
It had been waiting for the cup of your palm
around my neck except you didn’t have to beg baby
you said “let me show you what flowers look like
from the earth up.”
and I said “yes, please. Show me your flowers,
show me your dead, show me your fingers.”
My mother warned me about gods like you,
hungry, greedy gods like you
all desire and no thought
all want and no logic
I was the same.
I skipped with you into hell
Artemis knows dragged, I know this:
I held my arms outwards and let you tie them
so softly that I asked what they were made of
and you said “prayers.”
We kissed at the entrance, open-mouthed
we kissed like we were starving,
kissed like the dead were crawling out of hell
I decorated your dark with flowers
and sat on your lap and fed you petals.
It makes me burn when they say
“Hades stole Persephone.”
and I tell them “No.
I stole him.”
I’m in love with you. Yeah, it’s that bad. You’re so beautiful to me. Shut up, let me tell you, let me. Every time I look at your face, or even remember it, it wrecks me. And the way you are with me, and you’re just fun and you make fun of me and you’re real. I don’t have enough time in any day to think about you enough. I feel like I’m going to live a thousand years because that’s how long it’s going to take me to have one thought about you, which is that I’m crazy about you. I don’t want to be with anybody else. I don’t. I really don’t. I don’t think about women anymore. I think about you. I had a dream the other night that you and I were on a train. We were on this train and you were holding my hand. That’s the whole dream, you were holding my hand and I felt you holding my hand. I woke up and I couldn’t believe it wasn’t real.
I erase mouths with my own mouth.
Handfuls of ice. It won’t hurt.
The light breaking over the water.
Sister out on the edge. Are you my
sister. I give a little push.
And did you dream. Did you remember
something. You were out in the dark
field. As you were
breaking. Did she let you say that.
Hold me still. An undercurrent.
god leans in. Interprets my mouth
as a map. As a door you could run