06: Open - June 2021


Why must poetry be pretty?
The language of gods, dripping from Apollo’s fingertips - whispers from the sea spray, metaphors in the dew off of morning grass and stanzas radiating off sunbeams
Words to make critics swoon with veneration
“Thalia, Melpomene, Erato, Euterpe - behold!”

Fuck that. Fuck the gods. Poetry is nasty.
Poetry is plunging a dirty needle into an arm so pierced that the rust punctures skin without interruption kissing a boy so drunk that the only tastes on his tongue are vodka and lust
losing your mind in the heat of lack of consent
“Belial, Asmodeus, Meresin, Abaddon - behold!”

-Mel Cort

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