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HAPAX LEGOMENON

When I wake to piss he sleep-talks to me.
His voice like foreign coins glued to the floor,
Water slopping on slanted glass. A key
snapped in the lock. Landscapes, and landscapes more.
I decided to be a happy girl,
and I was. The conventional lyric:           
salt, pony, vena cava. Hollowed burl
of belly cataloging generic 
abandon. My mouth wet with permission.
Decided to thumb off my plum’s wax bloom.
Can I say etcetera yet? Use diction
as plain as his, asleep in our room:
Slut. His dreaming mouth is so precise. 
I get up, go pee, lie down, close my eyes.  
 
 
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HELLRAISER
 
I wanted the way the back of the hand
wanted the nail, once. The sprawling fist
of black crickets the mouth the neck two pins
curtaining me open to coarse whisper.
You called me a bitch, the third time, last night.
I can say I love you but cannot show you
my breasts, anymore, or let you strike me,
there, and on my face, during sex. I bend
my body away, dressing, twist the bra
around, and flip the cups up over me
like the eyes closing on a body hung 
by the ankles. I want to want skinless-
ness, fingers in mouth/soft neck be rats
nailed to the wall, my teeth to click and click.  
​
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  • HOME
  • ISSUE 12
  • SUBMISSIONS
    • Submission Form
  • ABOUT
  • LITTLE BLACK BOOK
    • A NOTE FROM THE EDITORS
  • SHOP