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Green tuppence strewn

This piece is published as web-exclusive material for issue no. 73, “Consolation Prizes.”

Green tuppence strewn across a land

  that couldn’t tolerate

  green tuppence.

Then my golden cookies came to the rescue

  of a damsel

  herself named Cookie.

Our boutique is rad. Call me bunion.

  Butt extends beyond

  where trousers end.

Dead woman rummaged through

  pocketbook at the top

  of the pocked stairs.


Ferocious stubble undoes wan

  pedestrian’s equanimity.

Crying girl squelches urge

  to vomit beside aban-

  doned train trestles.

Black wire mesh around scaffolding depicts

  naked man’s splayed

  crucified limbs—allegory

  aimed at gullet.

Maître d’s pants—slayers—more snug

  than plaid Presley

  tart-pants I spent unpoetic

  hours struggling to love.


Slain habitually by strangers’


  sexuality—my hobby

  is mortification

by fleet comparisons. Poached egg’s remnant

stickiness on upper

  lip not an apotheosis.

Mr. Death, without brush or pencil you trace

rear’s curvature.


Elements of Style discarded as rubbish in stairwell

  pungent with chlorine

  and kitty litter.

Unkind Robin around the block, girl I stigma-

  named carrot top, my paisley-

  femme revenge hemmed

  in our shame kinship.

Do pilgrimage and predilection belong in the same

  nervous system, and is

  this photo offensive?