the women pick at each other’s flesh, spread their saliva, and reach their limbs rhythmically before they rollerblade away, leaving everyone confused and delighted

a visceral piercing frightening hilarious violent housewife


taking out the garbage in Minnesota with a Pringles can that smells like old farts


the sound of warped Reggaeton drifting from a car as it passes~well not the Reggaeton, but us listening to it from under another car

I feel pools of saliva gathering in my mouth and I hold them there. Once is never enough, or the only true thing possible.

The woman moved her head side to side, similar to how a coral slightly shifts as it feels the water.

Violence is the only way.

I am tired of white women being virtuosic or repeating a boring thing, especially when they do it for a long time, then stand there and just open their mouths and stare, as if that action is at all virtuosic.

I’d rather see them turn into toads or change texture and color like an octopus.

When I shook my head, he came to me and I wept in a maelstrom of bodies.

I threw the sandwich at the wall, then I decorated her with it.

Can I be something else besides a human?

What do you say to the man at the deli when he insists he knows you from somewhere?

photo credit David LaGaccia


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