the hermit

has doll hands

seams on her albino body

ruddy vines crawling up her skin

the hermit has perky

breasts

and clouded vision

her tattered cloak slips past her bare

shoulders

hips

to her ball

jointed

sockets

hip pockets

to keep

                       your sallow breath

                       your grim eyesight

                       your lavender demise

 

elegy to american online instant messenger

 

set status to MORBID set status to DECEASED

 

aim profile

 

dressed in

slashes and semicolons /// xx ;;; never forget ;;; xx \\\

 

communication blip: ping! ping! ping! dear aim, just like the hearse you die to get in

FROM EVERY HEART \\\\\\\ ~~~~ 16yo from ny (really 12 from chicago) and the bait is set

 

age sex appeal and limitation

 

set status to TRAVELING TO HELL

obituary: here lays the digital gravesite of our traveling tongues

                                          the emoticons ;;;) the elicit text (ay bby)

                                          here lays the digital record of our teenage empires

                                          burning // rusting // xx     never         existing     xx

 

panic! in the heart space

panic! did you hear about tylenol murders! it happened in 82, you weren’t ALIVE, but

that doesn’t mean you can’t PANIC!

 

panic! take a breath, wait no, that’s too quick, that’s too rapid, you’re a spiral.

 

panic! too much stability pills could turn your liver gangrene. you worry you are dead.

panic! worn out lashings, penitent fragments, the constant repetition of panic of doubt

of assured doom or destruction panic at the smell at the notion at the word

 

panic! in your heart

 

a list of all those bitter moments

 

1.

in instances

of

lamentation

 

late last

night

you burst

from

my head

 

little god of

refraction

 

2.

i see

dust

or ashes

one is dead skin

one is dead

 

3.

elegy of mass

mass incurs

existence,

reliant on

heat

speed

not satisfaction.

 

4.

MISSING

 

keep building

your face

 

let the sun

expand

in your eye

 

the sun looks

out

and you look

in

 

6.

at my very base

i am an

object.

 

in the corner is an eager shadow, consuming colors.

 

7.

i know

what is the most

jarring

opposition.

 

Voice against Sight

 

who fights Touch?

 

there is a violent

co-habitation

of Voice

and

Touch.


Ashley Miranda is a latinx poet from Chicago. Her work has been previously featured by the Denver Quarterly, Yes, Poetry, Rising Phoenix Review, OCCULUM, and Glass Poetry Press. She tweets impulsive poetry and other musings @dustwhispers.