I imagine that undressing a color, though, would be so much like peeling a memory away from the grey and the white matter of your brain.
Ghosts for hire, whispers in her mouth, cysts to feel, the symmetry of a gift.
Her brown eyes, how a fig considers itself.
anger, like you can sink teeth into, candy apple
Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time
Dylan Krieger’s poetry is unflinching, grotesque, and beautiful. Her work tackles trauma, wrestles authority, and is a decadent sonic feast.
and apples, mackintosh mostly, but any kind left in The Pub at the Assisted Living Place
The collective failure of ethical standards
In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers, my back a misguided quote
If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.
I like to think I’m also sprung, released from the furnace knocks, done with the heavy meat stews and salty soups.
Part of being a good sad person is always painting the shadows in the right direction and knowing what sorrow to art with.
Lights on the dashboard spell out “You still can’t kiss me”
Every so often, they add a tattoo in honor of some long-forgotten love.
He has stories that I am not in anymore. It’s healed this way.
Live the rest of your life from one worst case to another.
It is the 70s. 1970s? 2570s? Who knows? Audre and I have a penthouse in New York.
Millions of Americans have been affected by identity theft. It’s probably the greenhouse gases.
how does an afternoon turn on its axis?
I suffer visions and many indignities while looking for the Lobster