FEATURED POET: ANNA SERAFINI

god drowned himself in a bathtub fully clothed while my heart sunk further into my chest

last night i got a cup for my tears and drank them all down.
they tasted like salt. it was gross.

here is me looking at you and slipping under the water table
so i can drown and be buried alive at the same time.
my air goes blub blub blub and i am choking.
no one can hear me and that’s okay.
i tie a bag over my head because i don’t want anyone
to hear me choking,
and i whisper to myself
“it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay”
as the bag fills with water and dirt.

i jab the back of my mouth with the head of my toothbrush.
i need a new one because the bristles
are sticking together and hardening, i think.
i am trying to brush the taste of salt off of my tongue
but it lingers like the frustrating stain on my sweater.

now my stomach has seized up and i am ignoring my responsibilities.
i bury myself in my blankets and try not to think of anything.
the fantasies of warm boys with soft hands have soured, i think.

i need to get off tumblr.
i need to do something productive.
i need to get better grades.
i need to keep my job.
i need to take harder classes.
i need to rehearse for my poetry slam.
i need to rehearse for my poetry slam.
i need to rehearse for my poetry slam.

oh my god oh my god oh my god
i’m so sorry.

please give me a shovel for christmas i am digging
a hole down to the water table and it will be okay,
i promise, everything will be okay.

ANNA SERAFINI IS THE WORLD’S SHYEST INTERNET “PERSONALITY” AND THE BABY COUSIN OF ALT-LIT. FOLLOW HER ON TUMBLR AND TWITTER.

INTERESTING IN SUBMITTING A POEM TO FLASHLIGHT CITY BLUES? FIND MORE INFO HERE.

About these ads

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE OF VARINIA RODRIGUEZ

her words are semi-automatic rounds fired from her metal gut
do not fuck with her
this girl knows how to say “cunt”
emphasizing each consonant like a brooklynite biting his tongue
she stands like a soldier
on stage she sets herself on fire and its the audience who are left with third degree burns
leather jacket and heels
a camel hanging off her red lipstick
her red lipstick a soapbox
for the symphonic neurotic urgent purging of the psychological warfare of varinia rodriguez

she is a punk rock train plummeting down the ugly slopes of the rocky mountains into sure oblivion
she screeches, sparks fly from the silver tongue permanently embedded in her cheek
but then she pulls the emergency brake and from the chainsaw sound of chaos
the train stops
in the silence she makes firm eye contact
points a forty-four magnum at your chest
you can almost hear the heartbeats in her bullets

chaos and well-thought out speeches
order and sober drunk shit storms from heaven
none of us are safe from the psychological warfare of varinia rodriguez

(i challenged her to whiskey
and as i dropped an ice cube in my glass
i’m fine
she says
this girl
the ice
just waters it down
i’ll drink you under the table she said
and we toasted
to new regrets
and at the very least
bad poetry)

the psychological warfare of varinia rodriguez
is not easily saturated to the regimens of pen and paper
it is violence with feathers
it is peace with bombs
it is words like unfiltered cigarettes
mental pictures like sepia snapshots
it’s a short girl standing on 4 am tables crying honest
a decibel in her voice for every woman, man and child who cannot vocalize
varinia’s poetry is getting kicked out of bullshit stores for breaking in the sales windows
i bet some nights she sits at the window like a cat, anxious of everything
i bet some nights she sits at the window like a sniper, anxious of everything

the psychological warfare of varinia rodriguez
you have two options
hear what she has to say or hear what she has to say
and stubbornness is irrelevant
when honesty is pertinent
and varinia rodriguez is a loud speaker
and varinia rodriguez is a warm hug from an old friend in the cold breath of denver
and varinia rodriguez is a song that you have to hear now not later
and the psychological warfare of varinia rodriguez is the heart under the floorboards breaking though with a crowbar while you’re trying to sleep in ignorance
but it is inevitable

 

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012