By Christine Tierney


this slow pace clings    i drag myself    to the dark underneath    of all beds.     goodbye acheybreaky     goodbye naptime leeches.    i am the saturated plum of dusk    and the plea to leave the last few ingredients out,     the cookie could give 2 shits    no rising    no butter.    can you smell the wailing    of unlove    by the rashred door?    i may never    comeout,    roger–   wheeling    the distance between cloroxed sills.    don’t let the barbarians    near the blindwhite    lair.    and if anyone calls    i’m at morphine beach     where the seagull keyed    my already keyed car.    beaked in corvette yellow    beaked in stay off my wall     seagull gets what it eyes    why    can’t    i!    don’t finish that track,    roger    butaneblitz    this measly breeze    of crinkled jonny’s    and scumbag-bumble-dolor    instead.


CHRISTINE TIERNEY is an MFA recipient from the University of Southern Maine’s Stonecoast Writing Program and is employed as an afterschool director. Her work has been nominated for Best of the Net, a Pushcart Prize, and the Best New Poets anthology, and has appeared in Fourteen Hills, Poet Lore, PMS, The Tusculum Review, Skidrow Penthouse, Sugar House Review, Gemini Magazine, Toad Suck Review, Lungfull!, Monkeybicycle, Weave Magazine, inter/rupture, great weather for MEDIA, The Boiler Journal, and other cool places.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *