Is it fog or sea spray
                                    over sand?
The pink moon
                            or the green trees?

His eyes, across the fire,
                                            dark, darting
                                            to me.

Remember: a lightning-struck tree
on fire.




What you did dream? His English, bent—
I did dream. What I did: (more…)

     Every year on the eve of the full Capricorn moon is Saturnalia; a celebration of freedom, a display of unrestricted acceptance and unity. The popular and the pariah become one. The gods and goddesses descend from their lofty palaces in heaven to join in on the jubilation. Even Cronus himself takes off his crown for the night and feasts.

     Sofea finishes her daily rituals to her goddess, Aphrodite. Outside her window, the street signs are being decorated with homemade paper lanterns, and her neighbors are stringing fairy lights through the willows near the pond. The sun has not quite reached its zenith, and she realizes she finished her daily rituals much earlier than she has been the past several months. She is vaguely aware that she should be somewhere else—perhaps down the street—helping prepare the cakes for the festivities later on. She continues to gaze out the window, just for a few more minutes, and plans her Saturnalia, the night of spontaneity.

14th March


The bed smelled of Ikea meatballs in brown sauce and my brown vagina. The smoke was not letting up and I was drowning on your bed. I looked out of the window after days of not feeling anything other than your cum on my neck. The cum was still there, dried and flaking off as if my skin had claimed it a part of itself. The sun was hitting granite and ‘je me souviens’ on burnt rubber tires, incomplete clouds hid, ashamed of my mouth and breath. Your cum was still on my tongue, in the back and I could taste it in my consciousness and I remembered I didn’t know any words.


You had gone out for a smoke and $2 coffee at the corner depanneur. It was the first time you had left me alone in 8 days. I was scared you had quit smoking and would never leave. You cut my nails before you left so I wouldn’t scratch my throat because I had cried earlier when my face was deep inside your plush mattress. My throat carried your burden separately from my body and I wanted to give you my throat, it had more of you than me. It belonged to you. (more…)

we are not the same
you will hear
my voice
i am the harpy of your nightmares
will tear away your sunsets
until all they do is bleed
i am not your
but i am the one you should have
instead you took me for granted
so you’ll pay the consequences
i am a daughter of the
i will not be
told you once that i had a temper
you laughed in my face
told me that i
but my claws disagree with that notion;
i hope that you’re ready narcissus
to face the music
of your
greed. (more…)