one

was it behind the vog where it could be freaks give the instructions to kill or co-opt an urban outfitters for a community potluck here in the last slices of coffee rings in the marle an old gray fire scales the new city some fundraiser is being held on the back of a burning where it’s impossible to distinguish my friends’ faces from all that melting nestled styrofoam a bloom whore from her baby finger that sixth one behind curls into my breast and the phosphorus lip eats into milk powder when she ends it’s a ghost number the tone so low you barely hear it

 

two

in your blankets you always have tissues the blighted player siphons milk glass and injuries i’m going to give you flaccid tingling spikes of sex we got on quite well from equations beaded with gamer crystals zoom the remains of fingers scattered on senate floor her breasts covered in tight snails this wise dance in serum and cornmeal was to touch small divisions of vapor sleeping in a garden both domestic and leather sparks corseted here while i watch

 

three

mother pearl leads me to a pigeon in a carved wooden boat under lime leaves where frogs i regurgitate into my girlfriend’s candy rose bra through the push slush and belt buckle pass for companion succulence of walking mouths is it normal for god to follow wouldn’t we want them to release some binary in the waves he cradles into a rash made of ice

 

four

if i can stay here a flower limp through the window next to gravel obedience yellows or a bleach of rainwater briar of hush collapsed come for the wall give for years naked holes all we had to disaster the person several particles generous and sad she varnished up to the crystal grate each hand umbrella over umbrella up the fire ladder each bruise escorted in plastic the child reader placed amidst the wrappers of shag brown and black a crane threads the husk

 

Gaia Thomas holds an MFA from Mills College and was a 2019 Zoeglossia Fellow. Her work appears in the collections Writing for Life, We Are Not Your Metaphor, and Godiva Speaks. Her chapbooks include Aloft Alight and Cut from the Body. She lectures on disability poetics, and resides in San Carlos with a cat and a lovely girlfriend.