i couldn’t

get it right
untruths undergoing a vector change

my nightmares forsaken and bubonic
my pestilential inner eye palsied
my parsley looks like paisley

i am contusion-adjacent in black
the quinces are in the tinderbox
and i am ill with the human condition

send colonists and hogsheads o’ vermin
we’ll rule the world in a century or two

i apologize for the indemnity of loud nonentities
i apologize for the quicksand martini glasses

oh bondage, up yours
oh bondage, no more

What I’m Reading:

Maybe it was a revelation. She’d felt so little anything in her life (longing, rage, hope), but out in the elements, with only a protective wrapping of simple cloth, she felt herself part of Earth, moving with it, drifting in outer space. 

— Deb Olin Unferth / Earth 7