1

stick figures

swear to god
her waist is about
the circumference of my thigh.
and i wonder
whe(the)re her intestines
are. perhaps
they skin her
bones. sock her arteries.
blood sausage. she must
have miniature replicas
of my organs
slathered like lox
over her rubberband
frame. ghandi.
auschwitz.
have nothing
on her. ovaries. kidneys.
like raisins. like her
pupils. like her
nipples. like her toes.
ask her
and she’ll
stretch a smile
wide enough to swallow her ears.
claim jack rabbit
metabolism. pilates.
and brown rice.
drugs
i say between ding dongs.
drugs.

by Cat

my goal in poetry is to gently
whittle away every bit of sentimentality,
faith, bravado and passion
from my day to day conversations
and leave myself appropriately unopinionated.
freedom. expression. beauty.
hope. fanciful delusions.
i hate myself for believing.