'And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees,
give me somethin' beautifulllll
books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.'
i am the queen mole rat
23, queer basement dweller,
canadian swamp person,
lover and creep.
we speak in long blinks
and sleep apnea. i count fifteen whole seconds
before you breathe in. we find respirators in your apartment
and almost need them for catching our breath,
your weight still settling onto our chests
and off of your feet —
i don’t believe in heaven
but somewhere you’re standing
crooked, white pine.
Fifty Shades of Domestic Abuse
50 Shades of Damaging Stereotypes
Fifty Shades of Wanna Guess How Many People Will Be Hospitalized Due To Flesh Wounds From Improper Knots After The Movie?
50 Shades of Glorified Abuse
50 Shades of Kidney Damage from Incompetent Crop Use
Fifty Shades of Pathological Violence Due To Past Trauma Isn’t Kink
last night we poured my father back into the water
that had accepted his fish form so easily
when he couldn’t walk on the land. his ash was white
on the rocks, filling fossils
and threatening to blow back in our faces,
a dark final reference to our own big lebowski.
the cliffs of the quarry kept us
close, to the water and each other
sheet rock rising as two distinct arms
(tattooed and scarred)
of a man who was always more water than anything.
my eldest brother was a spitting image
when he told me he loved me.