YOU WANT ME TO SKULL FUCK YOUR INTERFACE // YOU’RE NOT INSANE YOU’RE JUST BORED // WORK HARD PLAY GOD // PLAY GOD PLAY DEAD // POEMS AND
By Matthew RitgerDuring pregnancy, cells cross / through the flat disk of placenta / in both directions—mother // gives the fetus her body / and takes it back. They aren't one.
By Alex FabrizioNo more looking outside for good / this time. The resurrected dead can scratch / their hands to mash, puke against / the doors, rag their faded clothes stupid // but the
By Gabriella R. TallmadgePoolside, an ocean’s distance from the coast / and village where I met you, learned the weight / of bagged cement, the reek of palm oil stirred / by children sweating
By Matt SumpterLiver, conch shell / of slick meat. // Colon, Siamese / boa constrictor.
By Regina DiPerna© 2014 Blunderbuss Magazine. All rights reserved.