find what you hateon my skeleton alleyways are built,find what you hate by ghostinafog
gaps and craters. suicide pact-bound teens
walking into lava.
i spied on them like an nsa angel.
a xenocryst pricked my toe.
i was the one veering off the fiery sidewalk,
and saw chunks of motorway half-
regurgitated, ashen smegma
fallout. the language into which
my onanistic fire
suddenly everything had meaning
first of all,
there was someone watching over
our wreckage. and it was
the chemistry of softeningyou adopt the melancholy tone,the chemistry of softening by ghostinafog
memorize foreign anthems
vulnerability is a new medium to explore the separation
of voyeur and architect roiling the prefab primordial soup
lead on the eyelashes and glue on the sclera it is hard
to turn away
in five minutes leviathan will float up fully cooked
this is the flag of a self-proclaimed republic submitting
to the wind of isolation spitting left and right
it is to pull your enemy close
to you and turn the lights out after a polar night of fighting
it is to allow yourself to be hand-
cuffed to bed for a night on earth (you say,)
to understand the enemy (you claim,)
to justify your little gastro-mental motions
but they do not exist, or they do
but they're irrelevant to the story you're trying to get
out of your bloodstream. because they are not the cause
of your distress,
random title three hundred and forty twoBackwards-clouds wrinkle over the highway. She watches chunks of road disappear beneath nervous unlightning, picks at minute-fleas on Reece's ankles. Misses one, feels the sticky soda fizz of seconds dissolving, tries to grab it before it hops a decade. Between her fingers it struggles to get free, tiny legs flapping. Little anomaly, scrambling to get back to where it began, stealing bits of life whenever it lands. It reminds her of him.random title three hundred and forty two by straygod
She pops it. Half-digested time-juice dribbles over her thumb.
His nails are receding. She's trying to remember the sharp pressure of them digging into her hand -necks twisted, blistered eyes staring at missiles suspended motionless mid air- but the memory is gone and she can't think around clammy fingerpads gumming at her arm.
Reece asks if she's worried. --Not as much now, she says, rubbing away a week. He scratches off a scar on his chin. She can smell the direct
Elapsed.NOVEMBER – lightElapsed. by AntoinetteGiulia
has been property under
the title "propriety," sub-headed
"self-promotion" though i taste it like
DECEMBER – this light,
stewing between lungs like parentheses
enclosing goodbyes to skins barely worn, still warm
on October's breath, is
JANUARY – my light
and i sell its anatomy
like unripe strawberries.
FEBRUARY – look me in the eye
of my hurricane sighs and capsize.
i am a catalogue of what lonely people do
with their melting insides.
MARCH – ask if light has
room to breathe, make me
swear to disbelieve that any
wear their strawberry skins the same as me.
APRIL – ask intercostals
if i have extricated ambitions from ambiguity,
if i've determined sanity in this cacophony of symphonies,
of untried, untrue remedies to unfelt blues.
MAY – heart is a warmly over-ripened fruit, heavy like
JUNE – weight enough to sink a