Poetry 2015


By: Katarina Bishop


Last fall, when boys went down

I could only think,

but now, when you say.

the taste isn't so candy

I want to burn the XXX video sections.


Let's say you're driving, and a demon tells you

"Hey boy, this is it!"

At the moment I think

I wouldn't seem so undoable.

Scars suddenly lost their flavor?


Carve my teeth

on the suburban sidewalks,

and I’ll replace them with

drawled proverbials

of Gold Rush ghost­town leftovers;

I can pull carats anytime

your breast decides to cave to liquor.


Another round, this time let's hear

your sincerest pleasure.

Pretend euphoriants never overindulge, and that

sighing 9/11 survivors convert to Islam, or that

your skin never purples

from all the hits you took.