Jessica Popeski “Vexation, and torment. Says that her mind forces her always to think of eating. Feels herself degraded by this. Has entirely, for the first time in years, stopped writing poetry.”
markham's interlocking leavesthat tweenage hand trickhere's the church here's the steeplea sugar, norway, silver, emerald queen maple and tulip, redmond linden, hack-berry, horse chestnutshubert choke cherry marqueea willow drizzles to tarmac at harbordthe pong of a skunk-feast a block below bloorcandy cane spattermeat fly-amassednot supposed to bike but I bikethe way my body overburnsaround ramhorn handlesnails tipped maroon-shellacall my rings are falling off my fingers
at a party in the bee-yellow jumper i sleep in because dolling-up is an ordeal— lied to, looks lovelywaffle-knit boxy over bonesi shoot vodka with ibuprofen the sugar-coated cranberry-looking kindancestral eating and drinking i snickerthe oven hiccupsspring rolls onto a traygrease-encrusted stalagmiteslime eighths film-over on the countera caucus of blundstones by the doori discuss my maine coon’s imperatives with another cat mumhis bizarrely tempting human-grade chicken au jussulk on my coat before i turn into a pumpkin at twelvewhat’s a reasonable timeframe to be social?i ask my uber driverhonest ed’s bulbs blurthrough just-washed windowspalmerston coyly lamp-litthe frump-frump of speed bumpsreminding my ribs i over-downward-doggedis half an hour enough?