There is a color inside of the fucking, but it is not blue. –Maggie Nelson
Bride me a favor, duplex it. Dragon it in the soup I will make on the cold nights, on long nights. I floods torrential in my longing, I stands statue over a landscape of animal skins. A filthy heap, orificed in conjunction with lavish veins. I’d be apportionate. I’d be a rotten deck- slatting of purple degradation on the bluest, o the bluest bald horizon. Bellow me a favor, beast. Blood honey are you. Monster, fall. Salamander, knife me a weather of variegated walls.
The Good Girls Guide to Starting a Revolution
Redolent of code and hammer, vocabulary of the marketplace
spells vacancy. For the miracle,
for the miracle answer our green bodies huddle against.
Stepping back into the fire it’s taken so long for.
Our cells to remember, our cells to be undutied mothers.
To the wolf, to the grabber is the way and the wonder.
Says the father. Says the sister. Every life’s a shelter.
If gambling, time aghast. If emptiness would learn to ask.
Such a lovely gathering of tuxedos and shiny red eggs. Such pomp and distance and the music like a dying girl in a chamber of cement bubbles. The piano played oh did it play without a player without a body to accuse it into action. And oh the night was quiet then at the party where everyone mulled and hushed and hushed to hear the phantom piano playing. When the voice the voice of like an angel spoke to them to the party to the people at the ball they’d already been silent for however many years silence really takes to set in and it said something into each of their ears and they were we and we heard a secret and then in the great hall a loud crash and from the crash a very large bird.
Woke with a brontosaurus crowding my heart, woke with it in my thorax dressed as something maximum, mentalist, dense. Sad shark, are you my mind? I think I would be happier filming grocery carts and fishing a lot.
-- Alexis Orgera lives in southwest Florida in a half-remodeled bungalow. She is a poet, freelance writer/editor, and part-time professor at the local art school and is the author of two chapbooks, Illuminatrix (Forklift, Ink) and Dear Friends, The Birds Were Wonderful! (Blue Hour Press) and one full-length collection, How Like Foreign Objects (H_ngm_n Bks). Her poems, essays, interviews, and reviews can be found online and in print, most recently in Barrelhouse Online, Beecher’s Magazine, Big Bell, H_ngm_n, HTMLGiant, The Leveler, Parthenon West, RealPoetik, The Rumpus, Sixth Finch, and elsewhere.