top of page

A quarterly international literary journal

Never Again without a Sense of Déjà Vu




/ Poetry /

 

In an Uber through the valley of the blackest

Birds, my mouth tastes like someone else’s

 

Mouth, someone else’s teeth sucked into

Goodbyes. Pulling up to Planned Parenthood,

 

The only place open at this hour, 

A digital clock calibrates the winnowed dawn.

 

What’s the hurry? Pierced by

A heredity crossbow, I accept the red curve

 

Apropos of who-knows-what.

And after? The nurse lets me cry.

 

And after that, we wait. Dark wings

Against the light. Yes, raven, yes.

 

DH backlit by the open

Fridge, asking What do you want for dinner?


I don’t know, what do you want for dinner?

bottom of page