Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Forty-one
Summer 2016
I Wear the Tiny Blue Plates as Shoes
Jessie Janeshek

past the gut-splattered van        the sex edge over dust
  the wrench in my chest
pine boughs hanging.

It’s not that I want
  the sirens to change me
  or need to be spanked
another day inlaid with rocks and red waste
the hoarse sluice of vanilla.

The small cat won’t hurt us.
The smashed toad still moves
   pinning your hands to my back at the crossroad.

My natural state is black-stockinged
    one sunblade skinny and bald.
    I run hot water
swishing green sweat from the cactus
twist out of your mask and lead apron too late.

About Jessie Janeshek

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