peanut butter gliding
across bread


sick furby in a
rhinestone collar


murmur of an eyelash,


a triangle of hair
a disco-ball hair

     bound by masking tape

     bras not drying

     on the rim of the tub


magma beating
in the pussed-up

somewhere in the middle
of los angeles

a new chemical develops
it literally
controls the rain
it is injected into air
by puissant

invisible weather
will rain on strangers

we take antifungal-solarplexic
-phosphorescent drugs

we lament the unpluckable sex

huffing augmented
street-leaf debris

our minutes rubbing

waiting around


how about

fruit gushers
enveloped in rind

your radiator
stays groaning

how about we use a metal straw
to drink from a metal bowl

scrape our little hairs off
and fall on the floor?

a diet of loose peachflesh
unclever energy


you hired an interior decorator
without shame

I pretended not to know
the correlation of light blues
and monied evil

or how you want your space to feel

we lean into the pupilless atmosphere


I raise you from the bathtub
like a doula
crying and kissing
and wet

I squeeze the night’s pancreas
blank-faced and mean

your manhattans don’t impress me
but i’ll drink them


watching snails fuck on the windowsill
waterboarding them in my mind

in my mind, wet with your weak

fucking you too
and drowning you too

who else are we
in this world in brutal mind

I would really like to know


we play your favorite porn

the girl’s oil-slick braids get stuck in the escalator again

I jerk you off into a cup

An Invitation

Lord I am suffering         delusions in grandeur        again

depraved         in the cafeteria         where we slap and toss

around                spoon me some of that                vibrational madness

I keep the dying parts of me        humid         offer guided

audio tours        (nailed to the wall)         its own kind

of sensory suicide         but you already know
this is dark-time

when I pull out the enema         and plug in

the hermit TV

               the empty bath you keep on your tongue

               trying too hard

               to wash me
(I shake disastrously)

wrapping myself in knowledge                of rainforests

untouched by pill

        distant         chromatics

I am through

herding my dopamine

like some limp elk         down a hallway

take a look at these loveless         horns!

are you really playing me Philip Glass

You could pantomime hypnosis philosophize all over

the gaping         female condition

in the end

it is I who wants to be fed

needs it

Open-Faced Disco

I will attempt to be honest
in a soft-pedal way

as I chew the overcooked
oatmeal (front teeth)

My teachers always said
I am no hardy breed

and indeed these weapons
survive me

  1. ceiling mold green-clot
  2. cubicle I plop inside
    sorting karmic debts
  3. that one fantasy (chasing
    the ball of your pupil
    off a cliff)

An abominable guilt,

the channels. I settle

where anyone would, on a beautiful girl
and her ferrets. We stroke our tails

Oedipal Arrangements

There is a photo of your mother on the wall
She was never very elegant, was she
Dragged by wrinkles in-frame she actually looks
kind of drowning

And here are these clementines sweating on the table
Your Deleuzian marigolds
popping off

It’s a little much but I fake it
I fake a lot of things
God-stuffed with trip-lic-ated
pixel-lated image, I say

Defang me mommy
Feed me the drugstore creme egg
creased purple

you know the one.
It’s Ash Wednesday

And your cum on my stomach
a languid vandalism
Your wooden toy blade propped up

I want to be a mime
in every sense

But I cannot hold still
with your disaffected thumb in my body
and all this cat fur

You don’t have a cat
Where did it come from

Dana Guth is an artist and writer from Baltimore, MD. Her writing is/will be found in Unlost, Dream Pop Journal, Trampoline, Rejection Letters, etc. She lives in Maine with her pet lizard and hundreds of books.

*Image credit: Still from Dario Argento’s 1985 film ‘Phenomena’.