Matt Gilbert

 

 

 

 

    Disaster Porn                            

 

 

Nothing is more delicious than oxygen

turned into gold pouring down anthills

like bleach and she, their beheaded queen.

 

It’s better to want than need so I wanted

her tongue before it turned to brick.

Birds rasping like secondhand smokers

 

from trees burned to the filter, bushes

bloody the color of black cherry merlot

as we tear off the twigs to make s’mores.

 

Marshmallows soft as the cave of sheets

we climbed out of, hands busy determining

the ripeness of each other’s sweet faces

 

like melons instead of calling our mothers

to say goodbye. Lust isn’t meaningless

or else it wouldn’t exist, so why do we

 

feel guilty after getting what we wanted?

For making the best of a bad situation,

roasting marshmallows into garnets

 

over the kissable lips of the flaming pit

that tongued open the backyard, trying

to melt the dark chocolate of her hair.

 

In the green, warm dark the drag mark

where she wiped her hands on the grass,

the radiation making her shadow glow

 

into a searchlight blinding by how lone

it shows the survivors sitting in our skin.

The world having broken up with us,

 

what we feared was reality was actually

reality, and hurt, you feel to stay alive

leaving is better than being left behind,

 

like the man who cut off his wife’s leg

with the tools he had at hand so she

wouldn’t follow him out of the sinkhole.

 

 

 

  • w-facebook
  • Twitter Clean