You deserve to be choked around your lying throat and this how it happens, slowly.

by Angela Kubinec

you become an antly queen, wrapped in a state of endless convulsive reproduction

stitches from an seeping incision peck at your nightshirt, your left ear compulsively itching

an anvil magnet hurls toward your face, drawn by the force of your dental metal

curdsandwheycurdsandwheycurdsandwhey stuff your face, your rush to vomit thwarted by a locked door

a stroke-like Brain Gong summons a huge bubbling soldier cloud your eyes cannot penetrate, and ruins your complexion

letter strings, bits and vowel sounds, thrashing commas and consonants, squeeze your hairless neck, nightmare images of which you deserve to be plagued

tied securely by my hand for you

and my joyously adept skill at the keyboard