and then the oinklets wriggle out of me in all their mammary glamor, in their interminable gallows laugh of nothing left but bereft receptacles and pentacles that lift. on top of every barren birth you pinned to me, there was also the matter of your hips’ wanting width, of sisters destined to linger down the canal of your bone trap, unkissed. in that vice-grip is where they will forever simmer and twitch, shimmer and glitch until the whole joke turns into just a tiptoe up the monolith of mother-bitch, the hard dissociation switch that leaves us itching to stitch pity into the space between our lips, so now our childhood chicken dinners become beloved pets, the ancient jainist wisdom of our ancestors rolling spliffs on house arrest, and somewhere between the changing station and the sacrificial altar, we start to wonder whether all is just another word for nothing, whether the parent of compassion is just a jackal with a beehive in its ribs
Dylan Krieger is a transistor radio picking up alien frequencies in south Louisiana. She lives in the back of a little brick house with a feline reincarnation of Catherine the Great and sunlights as a trade mag editor. She is the author of Giving Godhead (Delete Press, 2017) and dreamland trash (Saint Julian Press, forthcoming). Her more recent projects include an irreverent reimagining of philosophical thought experiments and an autobiographical meditation on the Church of Euthanasia. Find more of her work at www.dylankrieger.com.