thananotes by britt burgeson

Catholics cross legs, chest,

to prevent meiosis (the mime-moans-this)

consume flesh on Sundays

 

guzzle mimosas, recoil,

into linguistic cocoons

caskets of castor oil

 

bag of cells, bags don’t sell

past their expiration date

too bad I’m always late

 

graveyard tongues trace

barbarous wire injection

cross-stitch acrostics

bronchial scenery made of lace

 

dreamers drink milk and salt at bedtime

like brine shrimp in a purple plastic castle