bees are cubed spiders
julia
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
gulp
if i can’t instigate the plague
will my life have been worth anything?
i’m talking about the good plague
obviously
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
rift
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.