Crushed my pelvis with his mind
I vomited the browned roses all over his walk.
He came chugging, in his waistcoat
clutching Antares in his right fist
palming Regulus in his left hand.

He slammed them together, sparks
ricocheted and whistled, I swallowed
the hot bugs, and inside my belly they buzzed.

Those days were lightning in bottles;
we rode the rivers in Volkswagens and sleds
pulled by mythos and old spells
the robust transfigurations
of unspoken wounds and bubbled times.

I remember them better than him:
a man’s brain can only hold his praises
is what my grandmothers said.

During his drinks, I hummed the girlhood songs.
We continue on singing, we titivated faces
laced in Midwestern waters.
With toes sunk into the ant flecked soil
he beat me with his eyes curled shut.

First published in Whimperbang 2019. This is the first time “x” has appeared on this blog or anywhere else.


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