by T.W. Selvey
Gesundheit
awake wrapped
tightly seized by
the teeth of my anxiety
the tick that burrows
beneath festering wounds
impossible to extract
with tweezers
or other shiny tools
though a dull razor
usually does the trick
only i never go
for the valuable veins
rather, i’m drawn
to the thin casing
around my fingertips
crunchy brown leaf bits
still buried inside
the cuticles from an autumn
pile a child version of me
leaped, endlessly, into
one day;
years ago
found a lump
buried under folds of skin
got told by someone i dare not name
nobody will ever love you
the same
and so now i’m never alone
latched onto that engorged domestic nipple
monogamy that tastes like sweet tea
so sweet it hurts your wisdom teeth
haunted cottages holding
all your secrets and lies
until some gloved-up bitch
comes along
to rip them out
i haven’t let it happen yet
though my jaw aches
from all the thoughts
i’d let loose
out my window
a quarantined werewolf
staring at a virtual moon
by T.W. Selvey
Eli V. (they/them/theirs) is a queer poet and writer from the Washington D.C. area. They are the recipient of the 2020 Joseph A. Lohman III Award in Poetry from GMU and the Academy of American Poets. Their work has appeared in Pussy Magic and Entropy. They like writing about queerness, animals, and occasionally androids.
Recently, T.W. Selvey’s writing has appeared in The Shore, Detritus, Harsh, Cav Mag, Grody Mag and Misery Tourism. T.W. tweets sporadically @docu_dement, and is the proud curator of a haphazardly curated blog, www.documentdement.com.