TONIGHT

C. Heyne


I’m one of the

girls and we

are iridescent

girls sparkle

I am learning

to shimmer

and to breathe

slow at parties

on the A train

a man says

something

could’ve said

anything

he looks

like him

him him

humming to

himself with

whatever he’s

mumbling

I’d gladly

gut him

use the

house key

unlock his

chest webbed

with nerves

wires I pull

out his lungs

hold those

pulse plants

pop goes

a breath

calling anyone

anything. Eat

this before we

drink, ritual

of ravaging

of revenge on

perception from

boys dressed as

our dads old

and watching, time

will not save you

I am full of love

but affair a rage

still, I dance

bloody I dance

with a shine.


C. HEYNE is a writer from Sunrise, Florida, and resides in Jersey City, NJ. He is the recipient of the William Morgan Poetry Award and the author of my room (and other wombs) (Bullshit Lit ’23). His poetry appears in Sundog Lit, Taco Bell Quarterly, DreamPOP, Maudlin House, the lickety~split, HAD, and elsewhere. He also reads for Spoon River Poetry Review.

The art that appears alongside this piece is by GARRETT FULLER.