but you can sketch her gravity in with an anchor


these are the rings around her eyes

from the late nights

these are the rings dipping in the flesh beneath her long

sleeves from

every single time she tried to marry her own



‘I’m waiting for the part that is good’ has been her status

since eight o’clock

also ‘This is lame I know’ also ‘Sorry sorry




The internet is a stage

and everyone blinking cursors


The internet is an amorphous body,

a pond filled with moonskin wrapped around

cells of ones and zeros


vulnerability as attractive as moth light

as focused as the tiny battered who want to see

the pink thing

up close

The thing that makes the wolves

tear at a body

that’s already been put down


The internet knows how many molecules

in a teardrop,

knows the chemical equation for loneliness

how to use anonymity

to pluck an aggressor out of an anyman

who is never stronger


than sitting in a darkened room

pressing a button to hear something scream 

and never needing to know why


On the internet we hashtag our smiles 

and retweet our angst

not afraid to love something

so much we lay it bare

not afraid to hate something so much we

cause it to unflesh before us


Not afriad to shatter 

Be the soft bleeding thing kept warm

by the light of a fire we never had to start


because no one wants to

kill the thing up close

when they can just pull a plug


when they can find the thing

already dying

when they can blast their hate

with a few nimble strokes

from a keyboard 


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