All pieces published in Querencia press
The sewing machine
A hook
A hypocritical curve
A copper grin of your grandma
A deceiving bait
Jiggles of rubber
Gauge the dunce gauge the mime—
I am not the hole
Defective & sinks on its own accord—
You're between yourself like a mushy strawberry
Under the needle of the sewing machine
It taunts you with a hum like your grandma's
When she sewed a hook on a human hem
Or tried on something new—
Each infant a stepping stone to almost reach
The pond of blood head first
One coat counts as skin.
Sick sad world
New girl
doesn't make friends
like Quinn— esteemers make friends
/ like crumbs happen to sit / on the same acre of glaze marble shore/— if it came to it, dad would pick this sick sad world over a better one. I may be sentenced to life long methposting on Facebook like my father, / or running for office. I'm a special kiddo in Lawndale High, in a mindless family system / upon systems/— perhaps adults should know better than me. My mother loves this sick sad world / cherishing something she hasn't personally encountered,
like one droplet of that crimson
in the center of a clear pebble.
Wedding
Hear women scream be careful, I know how to spill the wine / my red glove was once caught in the act at a wedding. The chairs were plastic yet withstood hydrofluoric acid— I witness love & it witnesses me, marriage / swing / adjust. Wedding as a print of a swan's torso— daughter of leglessness. Entitled to loneliness, I know how to recite divorce rates, my parents never married, I know how to sip rain. The wine spills like kissing in public / the shade of my glove / the glimpse of leglessness— like watching swans. A cuff of rain— daughter of the dam, I know how to spill the wine.
— Dorow