Every night I stood still and stared into the mirror,
until my reflection seemed to move on its own.
This body of mine,
does not feel like home to me.
There was a woman who slept here,
tucked into silken membranes
as she sighed into the stale, unbroken air
of my peritoneum.
I lay beside you
and dream of
our becoming
at the close.
Will our skin slip off
into a heap
of tangled velvet ribbons
on this plush earth,
where sleepy worms burrow?
The girl in my bag
You are so ugly. Try to hide your face. If you peek out of that bag, everyone will know.
You’re different
Keep a secret. Safe inside this skin. Don’t let anyone know that ugly girl within. Smile as you belong, full of confidence, but hide that ugly girl, the one behind the fence.
The ugly girl you are, that fought your way to be
Pretend it was all handed to you, like the many you see.
Oh ugly girl inside, don’t share the suffering felt
Don’t share the pains of never loved, don’t share the tears you wept
Ugly girl just stay,
Inside the dark brown bag
That way no one will know that inside, you are just sad
There’s a moment in the morning,
where the nocturnal sky begins to meet the new day,
a reunion of the dark night and the burning crimson sky.
yet even before the celebration of the sun rising,
blue hues beginning to fill the streets,
a subtle and gentle awakening
For months, I’ve tried getting rid of the
demons that manipulate the marionettes in my
head, only to see those demons gave me
something to feel.
Something to get angry about.
Something to fight against.
Beyond this door lies a forest
deep in the quiet riot of autumn.
The silence disrupted by the crunching of leaves
underfoot a team of interlopers, of which I trail behind.
In a clearing beyond the shadows of the thicket,
we approach two trees towering as one.
Two trunks bowed like backs to wrap their branches in an embrace.
I blink
In their place, Two women appear.
Continue reading “Twin Violets”
as the sun glints
off beads of brine
braided in my hair
I watch from my boundless home,
a prison at times like this,
as my love leans
past the shore Continue reading “la mer”
fresh red streaks in the snow-white bank
seeping through fabric stretched across her back,
scored for each round after round
in this mouth of hallways eating a tail of rooms.
Genetic modification is the process of altering the DNA of an organism. A process, of selective cultivation for traits deemed to be beneficial, beautiful, robust. In the hands of harvesters, what was wild becomes commonplace; countercurrents of cuisine built upon sturdier eats and thicker meats and drought-resistant grains, passed down to become culture. Somewhere along the way, an errant hand plucked up a root —forsooth! his plan turned humble purple or white to yellow, then orange. Continue reading “A Brief Hx of Daucus Carota, As Read to the Admissions Committee”
Med Intima 