You ask if my swimsuit is new and I say no. I press a shell to my ear and all I hear is blood.
What would it be like to die here? What do you want to be when you rot? I want flowers seeping out of my jaw, snaking around my bones. I want something to grow out of me.
The Top of the Mountain
It is beautiful because it has nothing to do with you.
Dial-Up Internet Sounds
Like diamond rainstorms on Jupiter, the seaside snarling in the dark, you hanging up on me right as I’m saying goodbye.