I can’t do it –

a great force wearing rubber boots

plants firmly on my lower back

arched in place

the wicket concave,

the belly of a snake

freckled wraiths fly through the dust

spotting one in-line,

I’ve got my eye on you girl

this is how you wanted it

you like it dirty and broken and hurting

asking for more

don’t talk to me about snakes

mouthy insignia falter beneath gummed beds

swelling to tempt the pull 

tongue into the hole and whisper

black secrets, like  

smelling and lacquered oil seeps

into the wooden skins of daddy’s arm


I don’t know what it means –

my speech garners less suspicion, can’t say why

but I have my suspicions

gatherings for the people you’re trying to escape

it takes xxxx to start sentences with the word:

finally, and there were so many 

lost along the way

finally, falling off the edge

of the world you say

there are three types of people left:

the angelic, the insane, the dead

you keep talking

whilst my eyelids fuse and inner ear bones, three

resist your voice

you say motherhood is a destiny

the limitlessness is enough to shake me out of this

dry spell

to choose you –

one last time.

my aura shakes gently over the

body like cloud reflected

in creek waters

living cascades small laughter

shakes like a skylight orb

on the wall

on the floor

in the sky

says thank you, thank you

today I am a stone at the bottom of the lake

a coil sat under a twisted duvet

say poems into the device

whisper thunders thru the body

ask what it is you want

from me, body?

you shall have them.

tonight I am a stone in the desert

winds bow over me

sand whipped skulls the size of boulders

smile sand-blasted teeth

ripped dull from ancient particles, breezy

breezy, breezy when you lay white

cloth on the sand for me

you pick the teeth for me

lick the jaws for me

lock the door

by stars

we enter the house,

I spit a mocking

bird from my mouth

onto the parquet floors we

lock eyes and part ways

take my baby 

yank my baby

up by the neck 

rush out the house

before the men see 

drag my baby to the forest

deliver me to safety, who

here knows how to drive stick?


Kaitlyn D. Hamilton is the
co-founder and co-director
Sometimes they write poetry.