I have spawned a variety of poems. Each poem has fought its way into one of these manuscripts:

Girl Punch

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Lobotomy Push it out, nothing peaceful, what’s meaningful anymore when you roam, painstakingly snatch every last one milk every last drop, unintentionally crash every last dummy and you say I’m sorry mommy ‘til the cows come home. On a lonely night, only not over the countertop like she wants it, like debutantes swoon, legs over

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583. Leo and Koi

583. Leo and Koi Razor blue eyes.Transatlantic lexicon.Transparent menagerie.Quick tongues and grand secret tales. Koi raised his handto the sky,letting the breeze curl through his fingers.His questions were sincere.Leo began to brush awaythe layers of dust on his theology. The silver-tongued fossilwas shapely,smooth to his fingers,but the bones were teeth;under the thirsty sun their gleamwas

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Boy Delilah

Boy Delilah They want evidence,cold hard fact.They want his picture taken to provethat he is more than decadence,more than a superficialartifact,crafted by human celebration,a soft mancreated to be theirgenteel bow-tie metropolis manwearing teal, not green,a crossing-his-legs-out-on-the-scene manwith soft handswearing pointed toes, not steel.He is only in their minds,something they find appropriateto construct,somebody they think would

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285. Undelivered

285. Undelivered I want to make himeatall his words in bite-sizes too bigto swallow,so that hechokeson his intentions,leaving his deceitful gifts undelivered,dribbling excuses over hischin,running down his chock-filledthroat. I want dusk to settle in hischeeks,while hiseyesplead for my Heimlichand his slippery fingers clutch in vain,imploring mercy,receiving merelya paton the backfor making me think he was

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Two-Face It was an unclean kill, a spine-crunchingly majestic twist, and then something warm spilling down my legs, soft fingertips down my back.Listen, she whispered.All I could hear was her breath, so steady, so effortless in my ear.The first time I kissed her, we were out on the porch, gardenias whorling through my nostrils.She was

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Cherubim The cherubim look like bullet holes against the sun as they fly away.Before the light, his translucent skin glows red, revealing the skeletoninside him.His eyes are frosty,but the sun is ineffective andbends away.The walls of his prisonare fashioned from the bones of furious mothers and held together by translation.

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