The Reunion
I Girl I did not want you to wrap cell around cell vein loop through artery muscle form and flex to stretch my stomach out I thought there was a monster inside me and there was… I carried your heavy load for over twenty years finally said fuck it I’m done with your addictions your bloated belligerence from birth I closed the door at that moment felt only freedom not realizing this umbilical cord still fresh and slick with its own aliveness later dread then decay as the door shut for good…or so I thought at the end I wrapped myself in that damn cord cuddled with it II Mother had I known in my dumbass youth you needed to seek your true calling and if I could have cared for and fed myself it would have worked out between us Instead I tried to hide in my cell sac watch you wild with pain you’d hear me coo and giggle then realize I needed attending I sought only the sweetness of what I believed the band-aid to my bruises if you knew I was falling you waited for my collapse into your release Here we meet at the gates do not know one another at all really yet I smell the stench of my cord entwined in your fingers
Day Breaker
In a capsule I ride the earth seek star-borns and sayers to heel me I fold into a bowl of witchery wait as the forest beckons the leaves curl into my fingers fall off as I point blame I’ve no dolls left to burn in my cauldron of wonder mixed with bourbon I spit out fire speak in tongues If they understood my piercing blister that rots under my many hearts…… I could roll myself under this pot hide forever with my bottle yet I still seek the sunny drip that IV’s me into this shell I live under
Post Re-Boot
This body has hardened into a pit left over from rotted fruit the meat of it disintegrated and not to get too cliché I keep replanting – restarting – refreshing – re-re-re regrowth – rebloom I can re myself into oblivion tear at my eyes and form a hollow so deep it comes out the other side around and around I want this yes I do – to reboot but I can’t get footed into a place it all feels so narrow I’m hanging over with so much of me exposed I’m a target for hairy torn vultures to pick at they tend to loosen my parts send pieces of me here and there I can re-connect them yet it’s always difficult to reconfigure myself but I’m not re-ing anymore one last re-roll to my end
Sky Ticket
Shy moon baby moon the weakest root in the sky that just won’t take to the night soil turn my back it’s grown into a thick vine Full-face moon touch my sleeve mesmerized golden bowl of glow your vine creeps around the tree trunk eases up the branch secures its front-seat view to our night rhapsody
Ms. Dallas notes: “I studied Creative Writing and Philosophy at NYU’s Gallatin School and was lucky enough to study under William Packard, founder and editor of the New York Quarterly. Lately, I am found in Horror Sleaze Trash, Beatnik Cowboy and The Opiate among many other publications. I recently published my first novel, Death Sisters, with Alien Buddha Press. My first chapbook, Smoke & Mirrors, will launch this fall with New York Quarterly. I currently serve on the editorial team for Red Fez and New York Quarterly.”