Bunny Morris

wound citation

      I.       before i touch the hole in your temple
call me the ex-flower. a contemporary mantis.
try 2      dial up my angel numbers or try 2       touch
my metaphysical hole. my philosophical wound.  divine
, divine what isn’t   

there.      you find me here dreaming on Rhododendron Ave.
life is a boring sonnet full of no no no.
kind of catholic, my hole      my mandible
no more re-wounding. I’ll confess too:

I remember nothing                  
I remember nothing of yr hands.                 (or whatever else you confessed)
only a starscaped room w/ no moon.
there is nothing new.
I open and shoot                  where

where                    and where                            and where

      II.       while I touch the hole in your temple
you open & shoot.
if I could turn in to the sun             I would             son-shine       
                                                                I would             only wish
             to turn in side out again.

strange inside shine                                   like an unfaithful magical girl
adaptation                                        all I can do is be faithful     
                                                to
                                      live           live
                                                to

very tired, spending all my time deciding nothing
but 2 spit real gnarly or 2 swallow real gnarly, unfaithful

human gut tells me things like yours before formaldehyde:                           love, love
so tight, so swollen, so stretching. I don’t believe                                sobriety. the false prophet
                                   even more than I didn’t believe                                in you, love, love
              I am made of genetic guilt. I don’t believe                                  I am still alive

  III.       after I touch the hole in your temple
everyone keeps asking about the klonopin, but I’m Madoka Magica. I gather up my prescribed benzos, wands, lesbians, & drive 20 hours south. road hypnosis invites me to wrap my mouth around your inevitable end. no! I stuff gauze up every potential hole. the sun rises, I can see where you meant to shoot. I transform into the wall. transform into the gun. into your mouth. your sadness. it’s mine.

 

Bunny / Teddy Morris is a tired fetishist and an MFA candidate in poetry at LSU. He has served as both a visual art and a poetry editor for New Delta Review and as an experimental/hybrid works editor with Miracle Monocle in his hometown of Louisville, KY. Its work revolves around the disintegrating boundaries between suffering and the erotic, sexy cyborgs after disease & disability, and being trans or whatever. His recent work can be found in The Spectacle, Death Rattle Literary, and Bayou Magazine. Check out his other work & collabs & say hi esp if ur a weirdo @ https://bunnymorris.wixsite.com/poetry.

 

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