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<sundae>

woke up to microwaved screaming
somebody getting lobotomized behind the couch
                                      (heel of my foot smells like cat food)

somebody crying over their dead child in the background
                                      (this time it's not me)
                                      (this time it is me)

father kicked me out for selling sex at 19
                                      (i was a virgin at the time)
                                      (i wasn't wearing underwear at the time)
                                      (he couldn't a f f o r d me)

spray the most horrid words you can at the bowlegged glow
                                      overprocessed

change from skirt /// pants (so they can tell the difference)
(never) circumcise your gendered heart

                                      mile of zombies with their dead leg limp
an obligatory wet shimmy shimmy sliiiiiiiiiiide









<false beard>

unambiguous, she often wore a false beard. she's gotten much stronger since this started.
surprised against the warm stone. she could only see his stripes in sunlight. she expected jungle.
her makeup began to melt.


                                      she often wore a false beard
(to destroy)
                                      the tomb was an abstract question –
(a way to kill)
                                      serious //

                                      more serious ///

draw back
clean /

cover yrself in brown velvet hair
                                      and call it a day
gardenia                        simple


wounds growing over the ground
                                      she often wore a false beard









<saturday>

black nailed
tits out to the rising
sun ////

some heroin beard
yeast infection
to the stars
kissing the side
of my nose /
what a neat party trick
to remain
comfortably upset
smelling of balloon
animals and
strangerd anger //

take me to my
ancestral homeland
((avondale)) of
flowered paper toilets
+ nearly edible potpourri
     in a prius
rearview mirror shot
g(un)lass and
restless chest tight-ness

Sara Matson's writing can be found or is forthcoming in Rabid Oak, Mannequin Haus, Awkward Mermaid, Soft Cartel, Anti-Heroin Chic, OCCULUM, Dream Pop Press, and elsewhere. Her chapbook, electric grandma, is forthcoming from Vessel Press. She lives in Chicago with her rad husband + cats, and tweets as @skeletorwrites.