portion of artwork for Drew Kalbach's poems

Living in the Medicine Cabinet
Drew Kalbach

Dicking down I count
your arm scars.
The same running
mucus-face in the napkins
came for you.
His high heels
bit the stage
like beetles, shit
bits of wood chips and
dust enough to
sneeze snot
into the audience. There were
fifty before you fell
wet and shaken
out of the shower.
Minor fracture
on the left clavicle.
And teeth bitten
down into retainers
stinking of spit.
Her glasses sucked
moisture, speared into her
iris, and left little marks
on the cheeks of strangers.
My sneeze-face is
gaping,
gray and sad.
My sneeze-face creates
worlds. My sneeze-face
distracts drivers.
She stretches her skin
like rubber. I twist
into his dress.
I unzip his boots
and sift my toes
through his leg-hair
like a sneeze in a river.

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