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