The 24-hour pharmacy line is too long, wavy drunk, so Paula Cole stares at the carpet (which isn’t gray but also somehow definitely is) when it comes on, her most successful song—a banger, really. In drops the string of do-do-do, …
At the museum is a bronze dagger hilt presented as a fragment
looted before any god bound pleasure to books. You swam north.
We had questions. Quickening were years between war then
rumors of people packed into a cave, singing. …
Lust as corporal punishment, implies we kneel on each other for pleasure.
boy: a gadget I stomach on sighting my father watch me pull the least
non-binary stunt I’m capable of.
I— double-edged pronoun, perishable filth
Pa tells me— ‘snithe …
… and, Joan Crawford left her daughter
in her will,
a wire hanger.
amongst a breathless, debilitating,
Woman, Bird, Star
I closed myself within myself purposely.
The first method by which I tried to contain
miracles was to bind them to me with bandages.
I saw how the rest were living, under canary
yellow skies. But not …
Too low toilets, sandy plastic, first-grader size.
Someone forgot about middle school girls, skyscrapers
overnight. It’s the only place on campus without
cameras, unexpected refuge for resting bitch faces.
A girl Jackson Pollocks the second stall, spatter
of crimson, daub …
Make sure they were poor and even if not,
make sure they were poor at some point.
This especially important if you are Brahmin:
no one wants to hear about the white people
who aren’t kind to you in the …
Who is There Who is There
You Inform Our Regret
I Am In Your Field
Evan Williams is a Chicago-based poet interested in the collision of Surrealism, masculinity, and the natural world. Their work appears in DIAGRAM, Pleiades,
But the king grew increasingly erratic
swaddled in blankets, demanding that iron rods
be sewn into his clothing, so that when his glass
body bumped a wall, it would not shatter. He held
still for hours, and would not let …