Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Once the Venom Wears Off, Once the Swelling Goes Down


Cotton wad clogs the mouth of a glass test tube
The end of the world is right here, pinched between
my fingertips
Tongue itching to escape between your lips, slither
down the corridor of my throat. I still won't release
this excitable speck

It's not really a story, the picture is blurry and
the sound bad, you can hear voices murmuring
in the background the entire time, There is no
quiet, only the distant roar of locusts,
the muffled pop of bulbs across the desert

Nothing would grow for a mile around
Then, a tiny bubble of life
trying to expand before the winds picked up again

Drowning in a sea of shattered screens,
you whisper up through the cracks
It's not really a story, only an accumulation of details,
random actions jumbled together, cut power lines,
unscripted dialogue. A grain of sand
between my teeth, a whisker on my tongue.
We're all getting skinned and flipped inside out
while she's on her knees, grinning fiercely as
she scrubs at the blood.

It's not a story, it's just a collection of poems
we wrote about eating broken glass
even though there's nothing in our mouths
but bubble gum. I'm hanging upside down
waiting for the moths to start batting against
my luminescent skin. 
Stuff my mouth with cork and cotton
and remember that I am a test tube
and I contain the end of the world
in my clear glass belly

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