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by Rob Plath




if you could see

yr life in fast motion

you’d straight up

swing out on

a hideous

purple braid

directly into

the flames

all while emitting

one unbroken squeal

too quick

for tears to sizzle




a line, (a short blue one)



i had a mid-life crisis

in the bloody womb

sipping from

a FUCK YOU flask

& streaked in red warpaint

from skull to feet

i struck matches off

the noose-like umbilical

chain-smoking until

i slid out in a dark cloud

upon this pitiful stage

an unproud misfit

w/ quite a mad pair

of shrieking lung sacks

& an ice pick in my fist

to scrawl my poetry




a line, (a short blue one)



i wish there was a makeshift shank

taped to the placenta wall

so my unborn self could’ve avoided

being yanked from the womb

& all the doom that awaited outside of it

just ride a jab to the jugular

back to my homeland the stars



a line, (a blue one)


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