"please, i'm writing" 
i say to the bug
crawling across my laptop screen
after i pause tonight's lesbian movie

last night i had a dream
in which a mother gave a seminar
on fucking her son
and how it made her a great person
that aired on late late night television

the bug sits
between the words

we're friends now

i can't fly but i have a friend who does
everything horrible looks like love

i cuddle with a doll every night
i bought at the good will
named clara
sometimes she watches youtube with me

on a blue october evening
sobered by the cool delay of the year
we're kites held up by the wind
motionless but moving
cancelled out
but flying

No. 28

i foot through the big room
outside our houses

gravity drags me
to the core
of a massive object

as i watch wrestlemania through
someone's living room window

the rock plants john cena on the mat
god buries the stars in the sky

i get lost in headlights

my dad drunk drives
over me
& keeps going

the wrestlemania people put me on ice
mount my head on their wall

a grasshopper plays a song
in my mouth
until they throw me out

mom finds me in the garbage

first thing when we get home
hugs me in the kitchen
melts her legs

i start walking
carrying her weight

she drags herself across the floor
holding me

laughing, pouting

Claire Alexandria is that bitch with the anxiety. Her work has appeared in Alien Mouth and Powder Keg and is forthcoming in TYPO and DIAGRAM.