“Underwater Surgery” by Flore Thevoux

I HAVE NOTHING BUT TIME

 

 

 

a field of wheat

a soft-boiled egg

I shit on your lawn

at sunrise

it rains

a woman sorts cans​​ 

under the magnolia​​ 

wings unfurl

in the hole​​ 

you made for me

I chew your bones​​ 

in my sleep

place an ember​​ 

on the carpet

the manic birds

watch me​​ 

reject my wrist

each month

I lie down

I get up

aerate my pussy​​ 

in the dead

of day

to admit​​ 

the pink wind

is your finger​​ 

in my mouth

is not a display​​ 

of longing​​ 

it’s​​ an exercise​​ 

in painting a pearl​​ 

to resemble an orange​​ 

to sit in the company​​ 

of my own trash​​ 

to eat a sugar doughnut​​ 

on the toilet

q-tip

potato rind

dino floss

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FOREPLAY DIALECTIC

 

 

 

I love you : Come meet me in my soundsystem

 

You are a​​ field : Under the sternum

 

When you think of me : The wound seeps clear fluid

 

What happened to your bowl cut : A gas station will ache  ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ 

 

The river is full of whitewater : Hold my throat like an expensive jar of jam

 

The ache is an indestructible ache : A ball gag is a hymn

 

This trail leads to the top of the mountain : An ingrown hair dies and is reborn

 

This trail feels like an indirect route : Stop writing about lights

 

The word inflammation traces back to Latin for to set afire : My hair is on fire  ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ 

 

Come meet the inside of my medicine cabinet : I paint my tongue a redder red

 

A hospital gown is not the opposite of a rainstorm : The lamp is on fire

 

The stranger talks about his wife : Resurrection is an​​ abandoned washcloth

 

My therapist has a bad eye : On the days it flares up, I feel closer to her

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SENSODYNE

 

My computer complains​​ 

of a misplaced pain

color distortion

malaise, I am working​​ 

on writing what I know

cloud formations

klonopin​​ hacks, carving​​ 

away this sheet mask​​ 

with a butter knife

my sharpened thumb

burning lavender to delete

the white wall, making lovers​​ 

cosmically disappear

in the banquet hall eating ribs

propped up on my elbows

on the bathroom floor

it’s my routine

how they cum​​ 

when they see me​​ 

at my most deadpan

while avoiding eye contact​​ 

with my scar,​​ 

don’t worry I will cover it for you​​ 

with my hand

I am still a shy squatter

walking through the grocery store

with Plan B and arugula​​ 

behind my back

I am writing an elegy​​ 

to my perforated mouth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

AUTOIMMUNE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

arrow  ​​ ​​​​ 

 

 

pierces  ​​ ​​ ​​​​ 

 

electric and dull ​​ 

 

hovers​​ 

​​ 

makes no noise

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

bathtub

 

 

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ forearm ​​ 

 

 

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ Vicodin​​ 

 

​​ 

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ plum  ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ 

 

 

 

canker ​​ 

 

 

 

 

abdomen  ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ 

​​ 

 

 

 

 

piece of​​ 

   

 

 

 

 

tarp

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ over

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

underwater in the ocean in the bathtub in the operating room the ceiling circles itself the IV monitor makes sounds that are cut into​​ squares the panacea dries a hardening white drip drip snag mine darling vile lie back hum​​ 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

fibers  ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ grow  ​​​​ 

 

 

together  ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ a sutured mouth  ​​​​ 

 

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ still swallows​​ 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Cleo Abramian‘s work has appeared in Foundry Journal, Hyperallergic, and elsewhere. She is currently an MFA candidate at UMass Amherst’s Poetry program.