CANDICE WUEHLE

tachophobia

The laziness of a coil, of looping
a strip of hair round and around a rigid finger
until it is a ringlet, a simple promise
about what gel can do. Stickiness. Time-clott
ed flies in the twin hooks of a mobius strip. Listen, attraction

is as much about sh ape  s as anything; disorientation
occurs if the spine bends
too far backw ard. i bend my spine
too far back war d. i bend until the tips of my hair
touch the dirt i just walked through and my b reasts
disagree with gravity
, a magnet held on the tongue
in the metal-braced mouth
of time. Historical slur. Visible snag hung

in the air like a fingerprint on a jell-o mold
‘s viscid lip. As i talk, you will see
the tear in the speech-time continuum.  You will see the idea
of another orbit, of an ugly star
looking like a star.

tachophobia ii

Yes, i was joking about the stiff taffeta
dress draped across the body draped across
the oriental rug. i knew you could not conceive
of that many patterns
occurring at once. i know it’s nice to look at a portrait
and see yourself. It’s a little tickle
on the back of the knee, a thrill
of hysterical nostalgia. In this way, every portrait is an ooze
of light. editrix, i knew you could not recognize
yourself in the burp of gold, the milk arm extended
from the aggressive frill of the garden
party dress draped with one long garter
snake. A thin blackish wriggle
always looks a little like
blood. When a child comes across a limp
body they see sleep. Death is a language whose
lexicon is defined by memory, by the crisscrossing
of dark and darker threads. i’m the one who is going
to meet the immortal designer. i’m the one
who going to make a model
out of light. i’m going to dress death up
differently. Coiled skin, reptilian coif, human
comedy.

necrophobia/ /elaborate tracery

a thick black marker drew a frame
around my body bag. i did it because
they’re getting the goth i c hero ine
wrong. My ancestral curse is black lipstick—
wax with a tongue-wick. To open
my mouth and illuminate
the waver of every line. vince, there
is no such thing as straight. vince,
don’t believe in ghosts and i won’t be dead.
 vince, i bleed con fi d  ence.

terrestrial

The angel is wearing knee-high
striped stockings and the mood of nothing else.
My favorite mode of argument
is a lower belly
exposed.
                 Protect
the interests of your own body.
The veil thickens.
My face feels plunged
into a fine-furred animal’s pelt and
the veil thickens
more and muffles all the outside and to get out,
i crawl to the space
where the roots take water. Someday,
you won’t have to take your body with you
you won’t have to take your body with you

. Today i will inhale and exhale
the veil so it ululates like an exterior lung. i’ll
hum the low hum of a  s  c  e  n  s  i  o  n.
hum the low hum of a s c e n s i o n.
hum the low hum of asc e n s i o n.
hum the low hum of asce n s i o n.
hum the low hum of ascen s i o n.
hum the low hum of asce n si o n.
hum the low hum of ascens i o n.
hum the low hum of asc e n sion.
hum the low hum of a scension.
hum the low hum of ascension.
hum the low hum of ascension.
hum the low hum of ascension.

Candice Wuehle is the author of the full-length collection BOUND (Inside the Castle Press, forthcoming) and the chapbooks VIBE CHECK (Garden Door Press, 2017), curse words: a guide in 19 steps for aspiring transmographs (Dancing Girl Press, 2014) and EARTH*AIR*FIRE*WATER*ÆTHER (Grey Books Press, 2015). Candice currently resides in Lawrence, Kansas where she teaches creative writing and composition at the University of Kansas.