These Silent Films Were Particularly Silent

i do drugs and
yoga. Mom says
she’s not wise,
there is still bacon
in the fridge.

It’s either
raining or
snowing
outside. We
can’t see it
but the walls
are alive with
sparkling sounds.
i can hear your
pop rocks
fizzing from
a state
away.

You in
your
living room
and me
in my
room.

The feeling
is iceberg blue.
i’m not a sock
but flat-footed
is written on
my underbelly.
i am a sock,
which is to say
a hole with
an ending.

Glory holes
Glory holes
Glory holes
If i had better
vision i’d box
like Nancy
Brooks Brody

Codependence is
your left eye working
and my right eye
refusing to open

Keloids

The sunset pukes
bulimic & bruised
like a hickey all
purple and jaundiced
in the kitchen light.
A sound is on
its way, open-mouthed
and double-visioned
like Love 
standing next to 
its shinier sequel.
Don’t tease me
without a 
prepared punishment
I am not
in a dog mask,
I am the cheap
foam of the
mask itself.
Watch me not
make breakfast
for the Lord.
For the great
wind, I would buy
no condoms
just lube.
Cabbage Slugs
decorate all my 
past lives and 
I am trying
to circle back
as slow and
slimed up
as possible.
Bent and
sunblocked with 
Jon who says the truth
is most flowers 
people plant 
are toxic but 
the weeds we’re pulling
are edible. A conflict
of aesthetics vs.
taste. After lunch 
I nibble on
lambs’ quarters
and imagine myself
prostrate with
the pigweed. 

When a constellation dies
it leaves coordinates
and the memory of
its searing
infestation.
Everyone here
likes to talk
a lot about
processing
trauma. I pick
all the wrong
kale, everything
is flea-bitten
and impossible
to market.

frankie bb is a map of eyes that have yet to assemble into a crowd, a jaw bone that dislikes being called "mandible" and prefers "crescent catcher." A guilty harvester who believes milk is best served wild. Words in and forthcoming: No Contact Mag, The Lickety-Split, Club Plum Literary Journal, Maudlin House, The Landfill, X-R-A-Y Lit, bedfellows magazine, B l u s h Lit, and Witch Craft Magazine