THROW

armpits smell like limeade now
food smacks of rotten tooth.
it's too unproved to say it, yea?
blankity blankity verse.

you know when's the last time i wrote a poem?
i've never written a poem.

how moved i was along the bank:
dad asked to hear me read
even more than i'd planned to read.
and it lightened far away.

my foot has cracked its foot-spine line
and i knotted when i ran.
i have stretch marks where my butt inflated
the day i turned fourteen.

this must be where i stop wondering
what the internet would think.
there's burnt beet sugar smell choking the house
but i'm going to eat the beets.

154 KIDNEY LUST

shaking ejects food from my mouth and i fall to the table grabbing all around me for it:  the thought which will describe my structural failure. my noises are strangled out of me and it is exactly like i am vomiting from the center of my brain. i sit back down to try and eat. a whiff collapses me again.

heard length

i am born to understanding in this month from where those pleas originate. i feel them prying my throat and readying me for my bursted scene. people have been collapsing this whole time and though i haven't withheld comment, my draft is unmade and rises out of no bed. bed bed bed. everything is a bed that i hallucinate from inside. draftless an animal. all sexes appreciate beautiful girls. the right sexes appreciate innerlit mortal beings, especially but not limited to Joan of Arc. open the window. may you never want to crawl out it more than breathe it in.