I stitch my dress back together with the same floss the doctor used to fasten the skin
But they were dunnock blue.
Holding contact was
the easy part.
Burnham gets our generational conundrum—do we curb our empathy because we fear it being turned into a mocking form of entertainment?
The longer you stare at something the scarier it gets. And sadly, that’s your most used sense. Your sight. Your eyes.
Clean the cobwebs out of your ears, my dear,
you are putting yourself back together
and I want you to hear me as I say this:
I’m compelled not only to read, but also to consider the complete worldview of others, painfully seeing the crack that puts my world at crisis...
now press your tongue against your teeth
say rot! say truth! say life’s a brutal game
As she shapes my nails, we talk about the state of modern poetry, of literature as a magnum for capitalist venture...
When I listen to the radio, I can’t help but sing along, even when I know I shouldn’t—like when I hear a catchy tune littered with sexualized image
