Courtesy:  Rachel Duffy

Courtesy: Rachel Duffy

I ate your mother’s hat.
I ate your grandfather
clock and your daddy’s sugar
dunes. I can ruin you with food.
May these lips misbehave
as a permanent stain.

I’m fat. I’m staying
big and actual as the world
you’re afraid to claim.
Your eyes are walking
the landscape of my muffin top.
Watch me as I neverstop. Rock
of mess and sacrifice,

I’m not laughing, I am eating.
I am making sure the world can wake
up naked like a babe in Eden.
Eden too has lawns that need
a scavenger and avenger of truth.

I eat another confessional booth.
In me stands another earth. 



Standard Practice Edition, 2015

Courtesy: Rosemary Donahue

Courtesy: Rosemary Donahue

You are welcome to translate my ass. It is fine
as mooncake and you’re a jelly-faced icing. No
I will not speak for you like a motor vehicle.
There is no remix to ignition. My birth could slap
your mouth into silence. Don’t forget the violence
of drinking peaches with the Monkey King
shooting up tea for the green of immortality.
Fuck originality and diadems of please;
there are aisles of love you haven’t made for this.
In a tongue you haven’t washed your ways in,
I’m the living earth,
the salted crack,
black as the soil of the ricebrothed moon.