a womb of slime births a creature with gills spitting and drooling on it on earth herself a sound a siren on the crumbling ballast SIKE it's me i'm the creature im a nasty freak i shave it all but leave the stache on my boygirl shit i bob & weave about the house eating meat and rotting onions in a fervor of dark morning the sunrise is leslie feinberg in coveralls, spitting and cussing, winding up a punch for all eternity / i’m so pretty red asploded on my blushy face best dress i ever bought, purple silk, at the vintage shop, where the store owner did sissy tropes at me from CD geocities 1993 — doesnt that feel soooo soft on your legs? so smooth? it just glides on your skin & it didO she probably met siouxsie sioux at some party in london ontario O she prolly shook hands with genesis once O whatever old bat i got the dress & slipped it on right there in front of Detroit River cackling under the skyline’s shadow at undersides of seagull thieves their no fucks clever amber beaks gleaming like swords in the sunlight / the room is made of clouds that are horny, so close to rain — a pulsing red rotary phone the size of my shrink-ray’d body rings i just finished married a communist i tell phillip roth, i really liked it shut up you dumb bitch, says phillip roth, you’re a big smelly dick and tits now everything reflex & flashes in gunpowder i cough snot on the receiver & am hard i’m a big smelly dick and tits now i love it phillip thank you, i say i love you like this, says phillip, i could kiss you. i’m not gay, he says. no phillip, you aren’t. but i’m so close to being gay. yes, you’re so, so close phillip. thank you gwendolen. / below that beast of many-eyed midnight i confuse you for a fruit in the garden soft-legged & bug-like you blush & explode shells in nosebleed fluttering away in wild wetting shame from the divine judgement of mammals & suddenly some sun rises wickedly, fumbles our orchestra, simpering tubas wheeze at our expense caught naked in a stranger’s home there is nothing to do but crouch and receive God’s wrath. / *that polaroid of you and i shirtless in the dark* in your little purple apartment our breath is taut, heeding the neighbour, a quiet nun your drum machine pitter paws in like a fox atop porcelain then your guitar comes in, that billy talent riff you learned notes refracting lavender — the air was thick with it i do a big screamo voice: IF YOU WERE A RIVER YOU’D SWEEP ME AWAY THE MOUNTAINS IN JASPER THE SALT OF YOUR TASTE THE CHIDE IN YOUR LAUGH AND THE LINES ON YOUR FACE COULD GUIDE ME BACK HOME TO WHERE MEMORIES FADE the crowd goes emo as fuck with beer and sweat everywhere one guy does a triple windmill kick and he hits me in the fucking heart right in the fucking heart and i die / i'm going to send a glitter bomb to my worst enemy (who is the snow) i sit with my weathered face on this mountain that i live on all the fuck alone, above the glow & the hum & even the hush of the high place where only the coldest birds can grow the air is a still perhaps -- the mewling babycat of its vengeance for valleys -- set to snap in it angels pray thru shortwave -- the corners are tight & time unfurls in their footprints holy shit the snow just opened the glitter bomb it's all over the snow catching sunlight glimmering oh my god what a fucking asshole hahaha wow, it looks completely so pissed off / ☺♢ Ⓘ𝓕 𝐲𝐎Ⓤ 𝕚ภ𝓈Ɨ𝓈Ť 𝓸ⓝ 𝓑€เⓃ𝐆 Ⓐ g𝓲ʳl 𝐭Ħє 𝐛єＳｔ ʷαү ί𝕊 𝐭Ｏ ｂ𝐄 à ᵍ𝔦𝐑Ĺ ℃𝕌𝔯𝓛Ẹ𝐃 ᑌ𝓹 Ｉη𝔰ｉ𝐃Ⓔ 𝐚𝓷 άρ𝐫ᶤⒸσ𝔱 ⓘ𝓝ŞᎥđ𝑒 𝐀ภ αℙ𝔯𝒾ℂ๏Ⓣ 𝓣ⓗ𝓔𝓇𝔢 ⒶｒⒺ ηⓞ 𝕎๏Ł𝐯𝔼ş, 𝓸г Ⓓⓞ𝕘丂, 𝕆𝕣 ｅ𝐯εｎ вᵃ𝕓ʸ 𝐃σĞs ץ乇ѕ Ｔ𝓗ᗴ𝕣ε 𝔸尺ε 𝔤έ𝔢𝔰є, 𝒷𝔲丅 𝔱ℍ𝑒𝔂 卂г乇 кเᶰｄ άη𝐃 𝓓Ø 𝓷𝐨丅 Ｂ𝐨тђᗴŕ мⓊ𝓬ᕼ ώเтђ 𝓉ĤєＩ𝔯 𝓉𝔼єŦ𝔥 𝐚ⓝⒹ Ť𝐡ᵉㄚ 𝐝𝐑𝐈ｎ𝓀 Ⓐ𝔩Ｌ Ｔⓗ乇ｉŘ 𝔫𝐮т尺ᎥＥᑎ𝓽𝕊 𝐓ｈ尺ｏยⓖĦ 丂丅𝐫𝔸ᗯᔕ όυⓉⓢ𝐢𝐃Ẹ ๏𝐟 𝐀ᑭŘ𝕀ĆＯ丅ｓ t𝐇ᵉ𝐑𝕖 α𝕣ε 𝕋нｉᑎ𝔤Ⓢ т𝓱𝔞Ｔ ΔℝⒺ 𝓑Ⓐ𝓭 𝐟σⓡ 𝔾Ɨг𝓵𝓈 ｌเ𝓀乇 丅𝐬𝐮ภÃ𝕄𝐢Ｓ คᶰ∂ Ѷ𝐄𝓡𝐘 𝒇ᵃℕＣㄚ Ｔᵉ𝓵έ𝓋Ｉˢᗴđ ᗪㄖ𝐆 𝕊𝓗๏𝓦𝐒 Ɨ𝓷 ᵗħ𝒆ร€ 𝓢𝕙σ𝓌ѕ Ŧ𝐡𝔢 Ⓓⓞｇ𝕊 ฬ𝐄𝕒ℝ קяᵉ𝔱𝓉ⓨ 𝓬ＬⓄ𝐭ʰ𝑒ѕ ᗩ𝐧Ⓓ 𝔰ⓘŦ Ⓟ尺𝐞𝓽𝓣𝔂 𝐚𝔩𝐒ᵒ, ⓑ𝕌ⓣ Ｔʰᗴ𝓢ᗴ 𝒶Řⓔ 𝓷𝐨Ŧ ภเcｅ ∂ⓄᎶs 𝕓ⓔ𝓒𝐚𝓤𝐬έ ţħεⓨ α𝓡έ qυᶤᵗⓔ 𝓼ŤǗᶜķ-𝓾Ｐ Δ几𝔻 ｔ𝓗ειг Ｔ𝐄𝔢𝓽𝕙 ᗩ𝐫乇 ᔕтｕ𝔠ķ ùᵖ, 𝐚𝔩𝐬Ỗ ί𝓃 ΔⓃ Ã𝔭𝓇ⓘ𝔠ｏ𝐓 𝓨όù ω𝓲𝓛Ļ Ｗαᑎt 𝐀 𝐒ⓜＡℓℓ βᵒＯ𝐊 тỖ Ｒ𝐞αⓓ (𝐢 sù𝔾Ｇⓔ𝔰ᵗ тⒽέ 𝐌𝔸ᔕ𝓀ᵉ𝐫 β𝓎 ŤⓞяŘ𝓔Ⓨ ｐ𝐞𝕋€ｒŜ) ⓎØ𝔲 𝓒ⓐ𝐧 𝕣𝒆𝓪𝕕 丅ᕼ𝓪ⓣ 𝐛𝐎𝔬𝓚 ᵃ ĻỖ𝐓 ό千 丅ⓘ𝓂εŞ 丨Ｎ 卂ｎ 𝒶Ｐ𝐫ĮℂỖ𝐓 𝓎εs, ιⒻ 𝔂συ 𝒾ŇＳι𝕊t 𝕆ⓝ 𝓫𝐞丨𝔫𝓰 𝔸 𝐆ⓘＲ𝓵 ㄚＯ𝐔 𝕊Ħㄖｕ𝓁ｄ 𝐛Ｅ ⓘηsＩᗪ𝓔 𝓪ή 𝓪ρ𝓇𝓘𝔠𝐨Ｔ ᗯђᗴ尺𝐞 ¥ᵒ𝓤 άŘᵉ ᵗʰ𝔢 𝓢𝓽Ｏᑎє 𝔸 𝔴𝓪𝓘𝔱ｉᑎ𝓰 т𝐑𝕖Ｅ Ø𝔫𝔼 ＤΔ𝕪 ĐⓄ𝕘𝓈 Ŵ𝓲𝕃𝐋 𝔟ค𝔯ⓚ 𝕦Ƥ ч𝕆Ữ ᗩ𝔫Đ ρเşѕ ㄖŇ Ⓨσ𝓤 𝓨ό𝐮 ʷᎥＬ𝕝 ⓗα𝓥є 𝔸 ϻ𝐢ℓ𝐋𝕚𝐎𝓃 вＵق𝕤 ⓞ𝓝 ＹσⓊ ч𝕆𝕌𝕣 𝓛𝕖𝔞V𝒆𝓢 ＷᎥⓛＬ ѕнａｋ𝕖 Ⓖ𝔢η𝕋𝔩¥ Įᶰ 丅ᕼ𝓔 𝐰𝐈ⓝ∂ ⅋ 𝕡Ⓔ𝕠𝐩𝐋乇 𝕎Ｈσ нＡⓋ€ Ⓙù丂Ŧ 𝓰Ỗ丅 𝔤𝕃ᵃＳ𝔰έ丂 ⓐ𝓕ţέ𝐑 𝓪 Ĺ𝓸𝓷𝓖 𝐭ιｍ𝒆 𝕠𝐟 𝕟ⓞⓉ ｈＡ𝕍ⒾηǤ ģ𝕃𝕒şＳ𝑒ş ｗＩ𝓛𝓁 ℓØ𝓸ⓚ 𝕒t ЎỖᑌ ᵃŇⓓ ᔕᵃ¥ “𝐎Ĥ, ι ⓒ𝒶𝓷’丅 ᗷẸℓ𝒾ⓔⓥ𝐞 𝕚’ᵛｅ ๓ι丂Şᵉ𝔻 Ťℍⓘ𝓈.” ✎............ faggot

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𝓈𝑒𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝖕นɮⱠ𝖎ςคՇi҉๏ήֆ :::

'in the eaton centre men's room'
💌 The Gay & Lesbian Review

'three diary entries'
📀 Expat Press

'ribsong'
💌 Room Magazine

'in the university of toronto law library'
📀 RFD Mag

'raised by wolves'
💌 Contemporary Verse 2

'newark, newark' + 'pagliacci's pepe'
📀 HAD

'error and it's ode'
💌 filling Station