This is not in praise of poisoning myself – Jesse Rice-Evans

after Jean-Michel Basquiat

I swallow the cap,
dream of anemones
again.

Everything is filled
with venom:

My mouth, your mouth,
kissing on the sidewalk,
swapping fang for fang.

I couldn’t tell you then:
emerald is just black
before the sun sets.

Your fingers just can’t
reach the sac pulsing
behind my molars.

This is not in praise of poison-
ing myself.

This is just to say,
I remember tendrils,
my hands full
of sloughed skin.

Night is a jewel
I whisper your name into.

Jesse Rice-Evans is a queer Southern poet. The nonfiction editor of Identity Theory, her work is forthcoming in sundress comma fangs, a collaborative zine of spooky femmes, and in the form of a chapbook entitled Soft Switch from Damaged Goods Press. She waits tables in Brooklyn and tries really hard to pull off dark lipstick. Find her @riceevans

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