you trip out of hospital . high as helium . gentle as a wasp .
battered like an egg . with all the wispy bits churned smooth
as silkworms . bleeding like a radiator . knocking out its morse
code into the black hole of the night . while I sign for your
belongings . rediscover the watch I thought I’d lost .
make pretend I don’t know you stole it . just this once mind .
until the bandages come off . then you’re fresh meat .
well hung and ready to eat . right now you’re a hunk of cheese .
all hard rind and sad-looking furry bits . and I wonder
when I should ask why you did it . if you want me to . just so
you can refuse to tell me . avoid all eye contact . so I don’t .
ask that is . we just fuck in slow moving silence . until your
bandage unravels and the wound opens up . and I trace
the letters of my name in the curve of your arm . and I wonder
if I should tell you . that you’ve spelt it wrong again .
____________ JP Seabright (she/they) is a queer disabled writer living in London. They have four solo pamphlets published and four collaborations, encompassing poetry, prose and experimental work. More info at https://jpseabright.com, via Twitter @errormessage and @jpseabright everywhere else.
These poems were chosen by Anthropocene Guest Editor HLR.
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