Thursday, 6 April 2017


Yesterday we got lost in the cream bath
Hot sauce and pantyhose
I know I said I’d show up
But I lied—I got distracted
Another girl with spiderplant shoes

Some weeks the past emerges
A hollow ghost with no hands
We knock twice
But the ghost doesn’t give out secrets
The ghost believes the fastest wins the race

Another seventeen rings gone to dialtone
I feast on lost calls & free afternoons
Gumchecked and bloody
Starter pistols turns the air fluorescent
The air a chlorine triumph in blue

In the relay, the ghost swapped the batons
The ghost gave us knives
Srawberry blood palms, well
Call it off on account of slipped expectations
I’ll stigmata if it means I can already go

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