Cole Adams

bees are cubed spiders

who’s here right now
was sitting across from me at the bar 
when she said she keeps jumping at hairy dead things 
in her peripheral vision. slabs of rat pelt throbbing 
knot of eyelash fist i just naired a bedsheet as tarantular 
carapace. cheap draught 
           if i can’t instigate the plague 
           will my life have been worth anything? 
           i’m talking about the good plague

i’m the kind of girl who likes to spill 
a large coffee on herself & liberate 
her erogenous zones. feelings coextensive 
with their own gravity
spinoza needs to stop 
making me a magnet 
& yelling taunts at my trashbrain 
“you don’t follow your thoughts to their ends 
because you’re scared they don’t have them” 
eat a dick
                     is a fake thing to say 
                     so don’t say it
                     stop doing that tacky thing 
                     with your hips
                                                 your abdomen is full of mosquito abdomens

shaving is a thing that happens 
to me. i thought i was dying 
but then i found the bruise 
& realized yes 
i am dying 
my skull has protrusions
yes she is real underground
yes worms vary in size & shape & symmetry 
of the ovaries to the flaxen softness of my shoulder 
hair. everyday smell them twitch in the warm
like he’d just sat there
                                            it’s not funny 
                                            to have wanted him again
                                            i had wanted him one more time
                                            the way blood thinks in interface tunnels 
                                            toward a tumor. i’m sorry 
                                            to utter the word
                                                                              the word is a tumor
                                                                              it hasn’t been uttered yet 
                                                                              i’m repressed as fuck
                                                                              but it’s the only feasible way 
                                                                              we get the idea
                                                                              tumor tumor 
                                                                              nastyyyyyy boys
                                                                              synth riff
                                                                              organ rift
                                          i lick a phone screen
                                         i like to click a phone screen

Cole Adams lives and studies in Providence, where they're at work on a project about bedbugs and body fluids. Their poetry is forthcoming in Juked.