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1 poem
by Alex Manebur

Alex Manebur is a writer based in both California and Iowa. She has created three self-illustrated and handmade chapbooks and was a finalist for the LA Youth Poet Laureate in 2019. Currently, she reads for the BreakBread Literacy Project and has work forthcoming in Flying Ketchup Press and Camas.

& the light curves inward & my body unfolds

I hope my ancestors don’t guide me anywhere.

In fact, I hope there’s no ghosts so they can’t

watch me do shit. I hope they’re nothing but

old bones and maggot hometowns. Reality

only starts where belief ends. Between tramadol

bible pages, drunk spit tincture breath, blood

letting as cheap respite, here we are to bask

in what everyone ignored till now. As my nail

beds fold over each other I am left with their

same bruises, dead or not. Their same false

youths and their same summers. We’re just

midnight in the absence of philosophy and god

in the absence of hourglasses.

 

& under my breast is a pillbox full of pink salt.

Better than the hipsters but not unfull of regret

and carnage. Together we will coast in seizure.

We talk of the future like a secret. Our rhythm

was chaos, time was all at once, we did not

fear failure, it had already happened. My vanity

is more than skin deep. Use DNA to floss my

teeth. In my dreams the gingivitis reaches my

brain. I am lost to the relapse of hope.