gutshot
too much bruise out of nowhere, too much my body
hurting my body. too much nightmare in the night.
too much your hands, too much I quake. at sundown,
at the edge of scorching, too much like kerosene, too
much I become a puncture for mending.
hurting my body. too much nightmare in the night.
too much your hands, too much I quake. at sundown,
at the edge of scorching, too much like kerosene, too
much I become a puncture for mending.
growl
I walk uphill, frighten myself with sequins,
with shrieking—I chase after, scissors and
glisten. whenever my hunger, when it takes
me, I eat—one tablet by mouth, the hills go
shhhhh and homeward, how I rattle, split
underneath—a cutlet soaking for the butcher
with shrieking—I chase after, scissors and
glisten. whenever my hunger, when it takes
me, I eat—one tablet by mouth, the hills go
shhhhh and homeward, how I rattle, split
underneath—a cutlet soaking for the butcher
✱✱✱
| Emily Corwin is a Midwestern girl who loves all things pretty. She is currently an MFA candidate in poetry at Indiana University-Bloomington. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Winter Tangerine, glitterMOB, Hobart, smoking glue gun, and Word Riot. Her chapbook, My Tall Handsome was recently published through Brain Mill Press, and in the coming year, she will serve as Poetry Editor for the Indiana Review. You can follow her at @exitlessblue. |
