Time grins in ghost ridden creeks Thumbing through my wave-shaped name A benthic phantom, biscuit urchin The mudflap of my pelvic floor I grease the sky where birds struggle parting feathers Parkways wade my residue, like carnassial teeth in drag A funhouse mirror glosses my skeletal reflection On crisp bleach bubbles I’ve swallowed In untilled fields that crouch behind the sun I smudge lipstick around holes The ground zooms in till my kurgans are kissable Deploying palmar, I hold the upper mud Pacific townsfolk crave my cross-shaped uteri Private joy remitted by my intercostal curves Their mealy cores, horseshoed under Fubsy tumors bolster bodies they destroy Branches hiss at wind, like a god made good for entering Riverbanks await edema, thickening felled trees Stump’s shape traced, buzzing with my blink No stranger to the splinters in my gills reviving me
This is the edge of the Indo-Pacific Where I watched the angel land Her face so long and slender Legs nestled the striated palm of my hand This is my dream of connection Reef reaching towards sky like a drawbridge Fluting her feathers between My eight-to-ten-headed appendage This is her neck pulled under the water As two arms I used for sailing shot Above the waves and dragged her wails Still echoing in my chamber pot
DAVID KUHNLEIN’s poetry has been featured in Juked, Expat, Misery Tourism, Nauseated Drive, and others. He edits the literary review column Torment, venerating pain and illness, at The Quarterless Review. He lives in Michigan and is online @princessbl00d.