hey, I know you!
you lolling Jell-o eyes, your
eyelids are heavy
a billion more phrases, you’re
summoning mandelbrot, your shed
is a rube machine,
it whirrs and molts, you don’t
sleep through the night,
your sermons are petsmart,
full of ferret bones
your nightly dream,
a boor girl, her tunnels
feel like astroturf, she peeks
at you through Bavarian mist, she looks
at you with swollen eyes which rim
purple around eyes a grain of rice
like your mom and you
in a puddle.
It whirrs and molts, it
whirrs and molts.
you know well enough when you’re being oedipal to
lean in–buy a seat and a surface with American money, buy
a Persian sword, build
a temple of applesauce. your
shed demands thumbs,
I know you.
You’re a remora on the side of a benny bus, you’ve impregnated baron sop.
smart enough to know that denial is a toothless dog, you are
you are strong slavic man,
you’ve pastoralized your nihilism, you live
in a stroboscope of japanese pistols, your life
is Gallipoli but sicker.
You have a mouthful of Biafra, another
It whirs and molts, but you
cannot, epoxy boy, sticky and prodigal. You hold
your stomach in your mouth like a lolly,
your heart is made of pudding, you want
a disciple or two,
a Jacob’s ladder of guile widows, with
oil drum devotion, your shed
is full of jet ski bones,
you’re building apollyon.
You are a body like any other body, full of tubes and baggies.
We’ve met before–you’re moistening
at the sound of my voice, it’s sylvan, it’s literati, it’s faceless, this is the voice
of an auction pistol, it’s very expensive, it’s desert tacoma, it’s all night
engine, it hears you heating stouffers, it wants to eat your medications,
it wants to come in.
You’ve rented a room between the thumbs of a teenager,
you are bathing in her pupils, you want
to juice her little body,
she is playing diamond teeth samurai, she’s crossing
one ten in a white altima, it is sprouting wings
made of fog, she will not be around to watch you
It shivers, its metastasizes, it molts and molts.
your interactions are mannequin, they’re
dog fights, you’re a staffordshire with swollen nipples,
your name is blue goose, you put your mouth
around them and masticate.
it hums and whirs, it molts and molts.
your child wants to touch
you, you are florida natural, you
are quailing, you are mobius, you are orbeez, your
knuckles swim in your bloating hands.
you had a genius certificate, your child has its needs, it is
ripping you apart, you are mommy’s favorite, you are daddy’s bag, you were never socialized,
your blood is citric, your body goes like gogurt.
you’re free boyo, you’re borderless, you’re tampico, it’s the Always August.
you are rain, you are spattering
you’ve written the
world’s friendliest poem
It probes the cities with its wickie eye
the world is drenched in Tang
how we wither like puddles
how strange, it feels like spring.
Gia Kelliher is a 23 year old poet and fiction writer. Her work can be found in The Laurel Review, Expat Press, and Apocalypse Confidential. She is interested in dead malls, giallo, and insect politics. She currently lives in Philadelphia with her cat Boris.