Issue 14
4th of July and I Didn’t Take Any Vicodin After Our Fight

Combing my hair for ticks or in a corner in a chair, crying, reading scholarship on love
Holding a roman candle upside down, screaming then

Laughing as the flares bounce off your feet while someone
Puts someone else’s genitals in her or his mouth in our bathroom then burning

Bad books, burning student papers, burning fireworks then running
I don’t care if you’re sick, I don’t care if

Your skin is ribbons, what you described you
Couldn’t take off—a hair shirt—What we threw

Into the fire doesn’t know if we can heal
Doesn’t know if heal means anything

The mid-tone explosions in the night over the neighboring corn fields
Cold ashes in the pit. I’ll die when you do

That dream of a horrible tree
With bark like spines, left in the air standing, snapping in half

Standing on a bench is how I did my Medicaid interview
You made a little nothing joke, a thing like you do

I laughed—I do not
Have leather seats or fifty dollars in my pocket or a fourth wall to lift or recreate

I can’t pay my medical bills as the flaring tides
Withdraw, recede from the basin of my body

And whatever the effervescing clots harden into
Golden seeds of the effluvium

Gaudy, wonderful nightmare this is
Walking around the green and black pond near my mother’s house

Noise of squirrels around their trees, cars driving
If the jelly of this eye is a pond that is green and black and deep

If we are swimming in polluted neon waters