Your love opens me,
fresh daisies gallivanting through with ease
refracting sun to soul,
the stickiness of grief gone.
A dove nested up in my Syc so I pruned around the lodging,
leaving ample leaves to shield the eggs from hungry eyes.
What a lucky day, the young mother must’ve thought!
Sometimes the sky looks so Blue
I just want to inhale it all,
So I Do.
First start by making the sign of the cross, then end
with ego. The binding is silent yet transforms the nature of both ends.
Not unlike the dialectical light, The presents.
Unlike The, I disintegrate that which I hold together.
A cabana and no pool, imagine that.
TRANSGRESSION 100: ANGELS
Poets are entomologists of affect, prying apart the wings of each to display them neatly in the shadowbox. My poetry is cardiovascular and very good for you. Healthy in that healthy way that failure is healthy. Cardiovascular in that its scope is to aerate. The negation that comes with immanence. The bees that circle a rotten queen, the heat of their wings cooking her alive.
Josh has this superstition about the dog
like pulling the windows down will abate
him on the long drive from my house to his, and though
I’ve never witnessed the fruition of this belief
nothing kept me from growing into it, keeping
the breeze through the vehicle.
Mirror to mirror the truth informs the curvature of the road.
Eventually the canine tires.
Giulia Bencivenga is the author of GIULIA BENCIVENGA IS A MANIAC (Inpatient Press), Unreasonable Whole (Gauss PDF), and CUD (nueoi press). Their work appears in Peach Mag, Wonder, Adriadne Mag, Blush Lit, and other places. They run the reading series Two Snake in Los Angeles (@twosnakela).