thee stillbirthed republic

hit me on thee settee
leave your fingermarks & hot
welts rising on my twisted back

be my grand inquisitor imperious
in ermine & red velveteen
your incandescence / the wean
of duchess-induced melancholia

i call you weasel fingers
& you coo like a showroom dummy

its a luminary anthropocene summer
in the waning years of thee stillbirthed
republic listing rudderless

let us hedonistically drink
apple cider vinegar
& chew our appleseeds to splinters
piercing our swollen tongues

our brand is mint!
wintry fresh & pressed
with the privilege of inquisitors

if we need to rape & extirpate
why not be best
we’ll be great again

in oblivion

What I’m Reading:

failed to challenge the state
forgot to state the cause
forgot the lost, the least
failed to change those laws

forgot to welcome strangers
failed to stage a coup
failed to cool the earth
forgot to follow through

— Martha Collins / “Song”