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.
