You’ve never been a woman. You’ve been inside a woman, but you’ve never been a woman with something inside of her. You are inside of me. You marvel at the shape of my bladder.

While the wax is drying I write different endings to our story
They always include the ceremony she suggested
where we lick bee syrup off each other’s fingers

The Abbey of Crime offers none of the playful indulgences of the arcade…As Delcan explains, "there were plenty of games of immediate gratification and this was clearly not one of them."

you are what keeps us here
life is a race

trauma is a baton
you place in my hands

Imagine a society where we had empathy for those with opposing views. Imagine a society where we read more and fought less.

No one trusts the city streets any longer, and the streets trust no one either. The buildings, too, tip their gutters to pour their algae onto mute life.