Conscription/Expectations

Who else but me could scrimshaw

trapeze artists into this marrow,

wire trampolines to these pupils:

 

implant plasticity like

kidneys synthesized

from the gall of ritual

bulls or a sterilized god

complex? I’ll sacrifice

 

my ovary eyes to a violent cherries

jubilee, vision jiggling in warring

pores as eggs poached with ivory.

 

This maternity is to carry

triplets of bullets. I’m out

to crystallize into artillery,

no yolk left to pave red

runny reins to my aorta.

 

I’m out of kerosene and love:

that’s juicy, raw, rare. Inherit

the soldiers. Prepare the stove.

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Published by

Jenna

Hello, fellow bundle of nerves and flesh! I'm a simple little being who's half-poet, half-scientist, and all gelatinous chaos. Sort of like an illogical marshmallow. If you'd like to learn more, please seek out the "First Impressions" page. Thank you for the visit, bundle friend.

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