Vines's image
Share0 Bookmarks 76 Reads0 Likes

there are fat wet vines creeping into my

house through the pipes and through


the walls gentle as blue flames they curl into

my living there is ice in my attic sugar on my

tile I am present and useless like a nose torn


from a face and set in a bowl when

I saw God I used the wrong pronouns


God bricked up my mouthhole

his fists were white as gold there were

roaches in my beard now I live like a widow


every day a heave of knitting patterns

and sex toys my family speaks of me


with such pride noonesh to roghane they say

his bread is in oil I thank them for that and

for their chromosomes most of which


have been lovely I am lovely too my body

is hard and choked with juice like a plastic


throat stuffed with real grapes my turn-ons

include Ovid and fake leather my turn-

offs have all been ushered into the base-


ment I’ll drink to them and to any victory

the vines are all growing toward the foot


of my bed I am waiting for them to come

under the covers I am the only person still in

this house there is no one here to look away

No posts

Comments

No posts

No posts

No posts

No posts