pierced nothingness holds pierced bodies, close, on pierced nights, like this one pierced flesh, in her arms. her eyes pierced, by the definition pierced (adjective): having holes pierced. empty your lungs pierced through. yes. good girl pierced. and, created

in another dream, @hausofholes.bsky.social made a crude (stylized) anatomical drawing of bones and organs you could buy on a full set of clothes and then their bloody canines appeared in my hand while I was wearing the tank and thong

all three lines of the haiku I saw in a dream started with a form of the word "pierced"

she likes to make clockwork sounds when she swivels her heads around, but it's her doing that. we don't think she's actually clockwork, because she's clearly capable of doing it silently

she made me

half-dissected moth streaming on blades, prismwinged splayed across his skin,

(the Getting Worse will continue until unspecified conditions are met)

ambient-writhe,

knife through ligament– thrashing abruptly ceases; single, flightless sob

lesion-froth wingbright, fetid, swallowing licks of light as milkinggloss; fallow-felled the limn of lambent lines in cinder, pulsing, in wet wrists, the silk of yawning hollows mothstranding, meldstrewn mien— like falling glass in skeins,

Throat Pinned[] Convulsing[] Mo[]th[], [

technically, if an angel doesn't have a name it doesn't have to do anything or something idk I didn't pay attention in wingeater class sometimes it's better not to know too much about your food

blossom, corona fill the void with aching dross glistenbright on wind—

blossom corona

I wrote a poem on the back of a receipt it is now consigned to the bottom of a container somewhere

mango habanerophanim at buffalo wild wingeater @beahemoth.bsky.social

they called me a "gay little bird" can you believe that

Exile as a policy is inherently evil. There are very few evils that justify it even when they leave no other option. Not because of the process, the inevitable side effects, etc., no, it is evil in and of itself, and if there is no other restitution you can think of, let there be none.

the guy who made art after art piece of viscerally mutilated breasts and told me he didn't feel "trans enough" next to me because he didn't hate sex and I did

hook pulled through windpipe spraying nothing; but, nearby, blue-bronze-black oxides

wound-tongues of fog viscera-swallowing oil, from cutting vials heat-permeates so close,

guh

Sphex pensylvanicus

copper rivulets along pierced marble hung with severed indigo wings bkhour and resin-stained air past knotted talismans, silver traces, along stone edges touched throat, and the burning grace of soot in harsh salt—

mah tovu ohelkha

delicado e em sal congelado, membro torcido em damasco filme-lume, como asas dependuradas azul-atado em cruas aberturas, aurora se põe, estrelas postas, como coágulos opalinos de afago-meadas talhadas em argentaria

delicate and in congealed salt, torn limb on damask film-slick, as hanging blue-knotted wings in raw openings, falls sunrise, starrise, like clotted opal caress-skeins gashed in silverwork

brief centuries harsh cold, unthinking in imperceptible fall sootfields icebreeding, void-sargasso

I Am Not Helping I Am Putting My Partner's Leftover Noodles Between My Tongues

shechted for her pleasure

too tired not to describe people's veins as "fuckable"

suspension, 2025

drying blood on ragged white

five is a good start but I could definitely use two to four more pillows

blade of glass, shattered; vermeil-filling: from palm wound to arteries' chime

this place[] was []ful[]l[] of honor commemorated[] l[]o[]ve[] in a particular location[] still present, in []our []d[]r[]e[]a[]m[]I[]ng[

rose in long gilt belt fittings scrapped, his motto stained scabpetaled thornspill—

But the post from Berlin is exquisite and heart-burning. This is *seriously* beautiful from @wordkunst.bsky.social

the real problem with vapes is you just can't be very disrespectful with them ill-equipped for cruelty

slick silver flicking through skyskin interstices under bloodmarked calm

look I still think I was right

visitors on market day sometimes ask the villagers why a big black bird owns the two cows and lamb on the edge of town "oh, old Benjamin forgot to put up a scarecrow one year and got was coming. anyway the crow sells the best milk in town for literally anything shiny, so no one complains."

lovely names for—

writing poetry has given me so much experience making stuff no one is going to look at and no one thinks is really worth thinking about. I encourage everyone to work in discarded, "abdandoned", neglected, "low", "unimportant", "irrational" forms, media, etc.; it is liberating, educational, useful

you are a videogame character, what are your verbs. mine: fast attack: wings mentioned main attack: Blood Reference (what?) heavy attack: explaining a cross-language word association self-heal: [thermos of mint tea] idle animation: [perched on something, curled up tiny] [delay: biiiiig stretch]

as the soul flees, clove, cloaked in two-as-one twined flame breathes separation

corona of larvae, black, impinging on traced flow of skintext as you, blurred with copper salts descend white-lengthed stares, bone-splinted where lace myriads garb you in salt-strands of silence bronze-scoured feet bleeding trailed enamel of your path in sun-corseted wings, indigo shock, and you,

now we play the game of "how many lines of the poem you just wrote can you remember?"

myriad would be a lovely name for a girl