(not quite) a literary journal


Twisted, Glistening, Silent, and Blistered, by Nicole Brissette

Stretched thick then thin,
Soaring toward thick again
Saltwater taffy
Epidermal twins sporting a similar skin,
Laughing between bouts of anxious chagrin
Atlantic Ocean plastic fish missing their fins
Finished before the line appears again,
Foolish to count on the invisible win
Shredding my rough skin, shedding
Ears of corn
Unable to fake a listen

I'm twisted, glistening, silent and blistered
Whispering bits of cracked soul fissures
As slowly creeping snakes are constricting
Tricksters, hiding in the shadows,
Taking each other's pictures.
Snickering over a poisoned elixir,
Attempting to build a bandaid from bitters
These trash toting loud mouths complaining about litter
I've been filtering scraps of dirt gems from glitter
Watching wilting leaves before the flower's configured
Go figure
This string peddler calls himself a fiddler
Fooling around with a sanguine scripture
Selling his heartstrings to musical murderers

I am left sick with the guilt of not giving in to myself quicker
Sacrificing my time and my sanity to energy killers
Vampires smiling with only my blood to consider
Who consistently present old wood to add to my collection of splinters
I am sitting in a half melted igloo shelter mid southern Maine winter
It seems there's a break in my self love transmitter
Or that my wide-eyed stomach is confusing downers for uppers
Feeding its wires to others for supper
And as they swiftly slurp up the slivers,
I am seeking out a peaceful way to unload my quiver
With uncertainty fitting my foot like a glass slipper
I have never needed to be this kind of giver
Cradling a package hardened hearts must deliver,
If only my own would be left alone long enough to thoroughly recover.

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