The Devil Is in the Tags

1. Cotton balls and cotton swabs and soft cotton underwear and pin curls and violet toilet water and lipstick the color of your gum and chewing politely with your mouth closed and keeping your bedroom eyes in the bedroom in a water glass by the bed by the foot by the drapes your mother drew with her magic marker making the rounds, making off.

3. See, first I put on the petty dress. No, I meant pity. No, pretty. First I put on the pretty dress. Then I twirl around and say, “Look at me! I am so pretty and petty! Pity me!” And then I say “Fuck this shit!” And then I lift my skirt. And then you do.

There is nothing wrong

with discovering your own softness in someone else.

If you feel like choking on her name,

if your heart turns to bloodhound and bloodbath

at the sight of her face.

In New Zealand, they pull lobsters from the water

like pearls. Leave them salted and wet,

gasping, a tangle of legs on the bottom of boats

before the pink meat of their bellies

are exposed by knife.

If that’s what she does to you.

If that’s what she does to you,

if that’s how it feels,

then my god, always remember

that even the wildest things