featured gallery for June 2018

Pyrolysis

A paralysis of shocked and famished states
(or rather an inability to digest maybe)
glazes like salmonella infections of
genetically-modified breasts of turkey
pedaling to an ant-ridden picnic through my wandering head.

Allowing myself to talk in my uterine sleep,
I stop seeing my own body
and its fleshless immateriality.
The soft susurrus of mouths open and close,
telling me of mistakes I made
and my eventual alchemy of blood to brown.

The carpenter's supplies and nails were snitched,
leaving home, bed, and bath in perpetual disrepair.
My sisters and brothers bathe in an old writer's light
with their stringent hair flaring and their naked bodies
stung and changed by the boiling bathwater.

I want to spare my little sister
the tangles of life and dying
and the swollen relief of actual death.
A smattering of lymphocytes leaven like hot dough,
and to the broken me of beads burnt into wax skin,
a body more saquinavir than sanguinity can still fight.