uninformed, ununinformed responses, November 5

Illustrations by Grace McKenna

Dip your fingers in my scalp.

Touch the warm patches

the sun left behind.

Sully the straight division,

search for breathing creatures.

Corkscrew thinning ends.

Cup the sleeping smell.

Let me close my eyes first and

pull them all out by the root.

Glassy, see me, eat me

beyond the stained rim

of a bone China cup.

Crumbs pool in cracked lips.

Smile pillbox ivory keys.

Tell me how we feel in your mouth

an acrid rolling taste

of names you refuse to speak

but covet beneath your tongue.

That trident is small in your knuckled

fist.

Spear me disembodied

partitioned on your plate.

Which part of me goes down easy?

Which part of me sticks

in your teeth?