by Nicole Burney
DISCLAIMER: I’m no angel.
Print that on my appetites and shove it.
Once upon a time
I slept in winter
and danced the Black Bottom every solstice.
I split my tongue on Ps and Qs
the niceties of suburban greenways
and a Whole Foods off Chimney Rock Road.
Today is all about skin
the formula for Density (p = m/V) in loud yoga pants
like the Queen of Hearts I paint my roses red—I am not sorry.
Did you hear about the woman
who rent a tank in two?
She plucked an I from a lunch buffet and laughed.
I’ll show you how to smash a planet
in a mess of curls
a vulval pot of snakes and ripened figs
like the filleted heart of an unforgiven god.
Hoodoo is a fine word
to climb a throat
so willing to ignite conventions.
DISCLAIMER: My palms are open—
not for comfortable silence
but to gather tidal waves and upturned earth
to bless and scratch and build my own damn colossus.