Tag Archives: Daryl Sznyter

My Mother’s Yellow Dress

The perfect dress.                           My mother’s dress.                                    I envy the dress.             Pretty yellow dress.      I.   Pretty.   Mother.         My mother hanging the dress. My mother.                                                      Hanging.                                          Dress.                         My mother hanging in the dress.   I.   Envy.                     I envy hanging. I envy hanging the dress.                                                               I envy hanging in the dress.                                        I envy hanging my mother … Continue reading

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the air is melting

forest light on your skin clatters what does a sinkhole smell like we are sinking floating fishes mold and permutations i’ve always been afraid of the umber in your eyes you are singing a song you were always singing a … Continue reading

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Chasing the Dragon

Thom Yorke’s voice rings like church bells          and my skin sizzles with the holy-shit fires                and my brain becomes a mockingbird singing                      over the church bells                            and I momentarily forget about the boy                                  who sparked the flame                            that orchestrated my … Continue reading

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sometimes it’s like i’m speaking to an empty room

somewhere feelings are the color of salt                     somewhere twilight isn’t so greedy                      somewhere i smash dishes against the wall                                                    i drown out the noise of violent bodies somewhere feels like home                        feels like heaven          i could call you without repercussions            somewhere i love … Continue reading

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Juno’s Autopsy

He brings her back from the scene of a crash only to force her open like a locket, struggling to find a home for the scalpel. Her skin splits at the blade. Festering fruit. Its vacuous stench pricks the nostrils … Continue reading

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Saran Wrap Love

I believe in broken screen doors, eyes clenched shut like fists, bricks and the diluted blues of the old picnic table in a back yard I no longer call my own. These things were my father before you replaced him … Continue reading

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i hate this nowhere (as much as i hate your sex)

the women dump water down drains that do not exist. oh daughters of being! oh bird-faced ones! you are but part of a dream from which i cannot wake, a parable in which my face collapses in on itself, becoming … Continue reading

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