Table of |
he claims that mercury retrograde
lives inside your monitor
and that your facebook wall
contains secret minefields.
she can argue about how emojis
bring out his inner draconic child
and why his fake news
is feeding the trolls, not his kittens.
the internet circus is not leaving the swamp,
and we are as psychopathic as an orange tweet
infected with the russian flu
that has already consumed our interface.
did you know that you and your option key
will not be covered,
and that you and your computer
will not last for four years?
a soviet state of mind
pours ego into coffee
tweets bigly Russian code words
as yuge Cheeto confetti
©Patricia Carragon Skateboard at 36th Street
His hands quivered in the moonlight—
wine stains could pass for blood.
She removed Papa’s ax from her sack,
and after two whacks,
his hands were “put to sleep.”
She tossed them into the campfire—
finger-like flames ate the hands
and wanted more.
They grabbed her skirt’s hem
and traveled up her legs.
She became an altar candle—
her body warmed the frigid night,
oblivious to the life sentence
handed to the sheriff.