burn me some herbs
put on some tea (osmanthus oolong, please) and light the stove to slowly
let it steep
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burn me some herbs
put on some tea (osmanthus oolong, please) and light the stove to slowly
let it steep
we roll our bodies down the hillside
everything feels so green
there is nothing separating us but a few inches of cold metal, through which his questions stream like water through a sieve.
he never smiles, only glares at the camera
like he’s looking right into your soul,
and wanting you.
there is no liquid like grief—
the moon pulls it all,
and my body responds,
begins to bleed.
Cheeks wet with tears, I croak—Jessica, you are the biggest fucking cunt in Somerville.
She giggles like a female alien, inhales serenely, and says Thank you.
I put on my suit every day for work.
It takes three hours.
“Because I could not see what she saw, / I invented the burning city that gives no heat, / I planted the pillar of salt that is no resource, / And now, as their shadows wave at my feet, / I imagine the horrified look she gave / And salvage her look that has turned from me.”
“The moth doesn’t hear him, flies right back to the dads’ flamethrowers and you can’t stop it, can’t stop anything. To the moth all fire is sun.”
“The balloon continued to expand until it was big enough for me to crawl inside and curl up like an embryo in a green rubber womb.”
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