By Giulia Bencivenga
it's pouring in uneasy california
somewhere in malibu, a millionaire's villa sways
precariously. lick my lips thinking
about ruin. it's uncomfortable,
fucking a flame, i know--
i put myself in men's shoes all the time!
i can do whatever i want.
i french braid wendy’s hair
when i visit the psych ward—
she asks me if i believe i reply yes...
when i’m using my hands...
she nods, tells me to always pay cash.
it's hard for her to look at me. i'm blinding.
she slaps me across the face. we laugh,
myles glancing at us from over his shoulder,
eyes low, flicker elsewhere.
DO YOU EVER GET JEALOUS OF PLANTS / THEY MAKE THEIR OWN FOOD
for what it’s worth, i’ll always be a sucker for pink acrylic
crowned in teal
and there you’ll be, penumbra bitch, beaming
your hands— my obsession!—
searching for your pockets
some repose, a little extra
hollywood, up vermont
we are getting sick
of cable, snacks
food is rotting
in our fridge we count
seconds by the blade
one yam, two bags of rice
would you like
to make tonight,
every construction is a killing
but we wake up together