~

Cover goes here

i am grateful, eternally,
that my scars will persist.
they converge in a map
of where i most want to be kissed

~
“my sisters found me strewn across the shoreline” a hearty thank-you to Alice, Alisha, Alyce, Anna, Anthony, Arielle, Ashley, Bee,
poetry by c. corvidae Cat, Corinne, Effi, Elly, Emile, Emily, Erika, Gabe, Jenni, Jeremy, Jon, Lain,
Lindsey, Mary, Monica, Nicole, Rooftop, Shannon, Susan, Tors, and Tuney.
contents
you contributed to the creation of this, even if you don’t know it. you are what
1. this page i aspire to become. there are many more to name, but i won’t for now.
2. “the mattress electric”
3. "omnipotent shadow people tango" this humble chapbook is dedicated to Thomas James “Jim” “T.J.” Steimer.
4. “knowing wink from distant planet… iron lung dreams of smoke” wherever you are, i hope you’re eating well.
5. “gag reflects"
6. “spark walk” / “twelve dollars and a firm handshake” / “interrogate me”
7. “a lamb stands up on 45th street” / “meet & part &” / “poem for a video I
saw online” ~
8. “pulp maiden”
9. “the precentor leads a prayer”
10. “i’m showing you the art that’s been made about me”
11. “maternity ward in purgatory” dear reader, this address is where you can & should send electronic mail to
12. “toilet bowl epithalamium” the person who wrote these words:
13. "paper petal tumor girl" corvidaepoetry@gmail.com
14. acknoweldgments

Page 1 Page 14
 "paper petal tumor girl" “the mattress electric”

i think i was born good i squirm on my floor at 10:00pm.

and got eviled somehow somewhere along the it’s a ritual.
way / and now my i’m pus and gore,
quest is that of un-eviling i salivate all over my own
de-eviling wounds. i’m despicable and
purify now, purify finally nonsexual and arrogant,
til it's all gone som and a sight for sore
eday eyes, and alive, and
crying!:
but but who am i kidding who am i kidding
(myself myself) this is my new
nobody nobody body, this is my
new body, this is
it's never all gone, not my new body
"now"
not "someday" i pollinate, i germinate
not "ever" -- it will always linger in i make a mess of myself and
some form or another, my golden mistakes yet, pure and endless,
staining me at my core -- AND YET I'M i exercise and take note of my form
shifting, subtly~
watching my friends blossom forth from
underground-- i'm (watching a movie with tears in my eyes
witnessing the holy miracle of for the first time)
my lovers unfurling like leaves-- and i'm
wrapping them around my arms and (feeding on your tongue,
gliding down to earth from the highest point in the entire city recklessly, for the last)
and when my feet touch down,
i can’t claim your hardship,
well, i can't help but but i put forth my own for consumption.
i can't help but feel return it when
feel the dirt coursing through me finished. it’s cruel,
coursing through me the way it it’s pleasing,
it’s all i know.
was always meant to.
my pills are incredible.
i'm the tree growing around the fence-- i relish in watching my old self die,
bark misshapen, cancerous, bubbling outward-- in seeing my new self vomit forth from
ugly, rough, the clumsiest thing on stage-- my rasping throat.
magnificent, ancient, wise, the star of the show--
awarded with applause & bouquets like finding your best friend,
your long-lost sister,
well, and it’s you,
it was you the whole time,
thank-you thank-you. she’s not dead,
smilecrying, my body says: she breathes through your lungs
thank-you 100,000 times and rattles against your ribs
acknowledgments and celebrates and hollers in your brain as she

cover art by Emile Durant / based on a photo by Alyce Donohue discovers you, traverses you,
loves you to death
Page 13 Page 2
 "omnipotent shadow people tango" “toilet bowl epithalamium”

if i go to Hell for entertaining my voyeurs young doe communion in

please tell them i ascended, instead cemetery
field. at long last, a lucky
i’ll strut n shimmy n break
caress myself in your filth-enriched walkabout.
for these people
all night long; give
i want them to know the proper space she needs to
that my veins glow approach.
brighter than ever, now. she senses your intention.
i don't want them to see me immolated-- turn

i want them to see the show grubby palm upward. close one
eye,
i mean, and you know you are
if they’re watching regardless… “alone”
i’d rather them see my mouth or as “alone” as you can get. so, you see your
contorted into a sickening grin
than biting the sidewalk. sickness
emerging from Gaea. your
i'd been hoping they might chase the skin i shed dysphoria,
across a continent or two. returning to Gaea. your
organs,
but somehow,
their eyes are keen-- falling into Gaea’s seas. your
i look more like myself than sadism,
ever before, leaving bite marks on Gaea. your
but i still resemble my outdated shell union,
juuuuust enough for them to still know me. failing forever in Gaea’s infidelity. your

("know") trauma,
undone in Gaea. your
triumph,
so while you're here,
spitting in Gaea’s face. your
watch me writhe,
recovery,
watch me
writhe!
cigarettes in Gaea’s prison. your
watch me writhe,
windup,
watch! me!
Gaea inhales nervously. your
writhe!
haymaker,
Gaea hacks up bloody teeth. your
and i'll decorate my antlers
with tinsel and lights, mother
i'll keep shaking, and laughing, repeatedly refuses Gaea. your
and i'll keep eating, and father,
i'll keep rests uneasy in Gaea. your
burning reconstitution,

asleep on the scummiest couch in the scabbed-over void of Gaea.

...fuck!
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 “maternity ward in purgatory” "knowing wink from distant planet... iron lung dreams of smoke"

let’s spin my eyeballs sleepwalking with The Lord.

not uh getting rid of the aroma of
not horizontally banished children of my ego
vertically lust for blindness
let’s vertically spin my eyeballs rusted kindness
like in the cartoon gate creak open
when the guy sees money and thus: enter, spirit.

i wanna see a queer feeling erupts,

an image of my own brain an emergence of grace,
flash so rapidly in my vision a rupture of forgiveness,
that it appears to be superimposed overflowing, bursting at
over whatever’s in front of me the seams with
(the light) (delight)
my spinning eyeballs trembling appendages brace for impact
show me this image terrible, terrible balance…
of my own brain
i wanna see it forever i will revise my shape
omnipresent like a reverse burial --> folding, spinning inward.
monolithic scrape my hands and '
full of wonder scrap my plans,
i've got dysmorphia on the brain.
let’s spin my brain too i've got dysmorphia in the stomach.
let’s see what happens i've got dysmorphia forming in the mouth.
a concoction of saliva, acidic,
i won’t get dizzy brewed on the tip of my tongue
i’ll just get sick and spewed, spewed,
i’ve got this fried, carbonated heart spewed groundward.
to hand off to everyone i know
i tell them to take it <savage offering of sickness>
in heavily slurred speech <saintly offering of sadness>
<i am the woman in the painting>
i’ll swell up and crash down <i am the feather, the hair, the leaf>
i’ll dwell in a trash town
not much to do there's much to absorb, and none to leave behind.
besides spin gently rediscovering what it means to
spin spin lose function: may my chest
let’s practice heave and my bowels
let’s practice churn forevermore.
let’s preach
i stare at the scrapes.
i’m expecting a child (a useless exercise.)
no put an axe to the urge, before
two children the urge axes me.
i can see their twin giggling drooling mouths
they’ve barely just begun to breathe i’m scrounging for scraps.
and they’re bouncing in my arms (a toothless bark and bite.)
with my beautiful brain put an axe to the urge, before
between them the urge purges me.
and I start batting it like a ball of yarn
Page 11 Page 4
 "gag reflects"
a minuscule burnt-out forest fairy,
the last of her kind, now mere
guts and bone paste rubbed
between your left thumb
and forefinger;
a delicate wing,
still stuck in your gritted teeth,
flapping gently as you hiss your
favorite new words, the ones
you poached from their native lands;
a purple-and-yellow squeaking sound,
creaking out into the air surrounding
you, but as you awkwardly bellow your
dinner table Lord's Prayer, of course,
you devil, you've drowned it out entirely;
an earthy aroma,
strong enough to sew flesh shut
and unshatter bones and ungather
coils of prickly memories piled high,
overpowered by cheap cologone;
a hastily-fading little spirit wisp,
she's left this godworld completely,
she's evaporated like tea steam,
she's moved on into oblivienne itself,
and you are wholly nonplussed;
a power line full of hot, throbbing vengeance,
wrapped around the necks of
everyone you ever said you loved...
we've been scared of you
for longer than we've known you,
and we watch your compassion unfurl,
and we try our best to unvomit,
to unremember the pulp and sinew,
to push away the knowledge that
any and all of us are next, next, next;
Page 5
“i’m showing you the art that’s been made about me”
here’s an 18x24" painting of me holding a bouquet of lilies that have
just recently been pulled from the ground. dirt is still clinging to their roots. i'm
smiling-- no, i'm absolutely beaming. i look as if i've never been so happy in
my entire life. the aftermath of a tear remains on my left cheek in a wet
streak. i'm wearing a yellow sun dress with floral print, and "cat-eye" eyeliner
that is slightly smudged on the left side. both my hands are clasped around
the flowers and my face is turned slightly upwards, a pose reminiscent of
prayer. the room i'm standing in is very brown and nondescript, save for an
ornate clock on the wall behind my right shoulder. i'm not wearing my
glasses, but my facial piercing is there, and i have a pair of emerald earrings.
my shoulders & cheeks are reddened from sunburn. you can't discern this by
looking at the painting, but “Gumboots” by Paul Simon is on the radio.
the medium of the painting is acrylic on canvas. the title of the
painting is "I Think I Can Hear A Voice Asking Me To Come Home". the
painting is hanging in a small museum exhibit and most of the people who
see it seem to have a neutral or positive opinion of it. some of them say that
the painting is quite beautiful. some of them say that the woman in the
painting is quite beautiful. a few of the people even say that viewing the
painting somehow made them feel more beautiful. in a few months' time,
several other works of art in the museum will be stolen by a pair of
professional art thieves. this one will remain.
now, here’s a 3.5-hour-long film of me telling all the knock-knock
jokes i can think of. when i run out of knock-knock jokes that i already know, i
start making them up. they get progressively more nonsensical. when i run
out of ideas, i try to repeat all the ones i've already said, in the order that i
said them. this is filmed as one continuous shot, the angle is fixed to show my
head and upper torso. from the beginning to the end of the film, a strange
figure in the distance (perhaps 3-4 meters back) becomes more and more
noticeable. it starts completely invisible, but the lighting changes slowly and
the figure seems to fade into existence, as do some aspects of the
background (grass, weeds; clearly an outdoor setting). by the end of the film,
it is apparent that the figure in the distance is also me-- standing completely
still, with eyes wide open and jaw agape. i am clad head-to-toe in a pleasant
pastel blue raincoat and boots and hat. and this far-away me is staring
directly at the back of the head of the me that has been talking for all this
time. her gaze doesn’t shift.
in the last 2 minutes of the film, the me in the background suddenly
lies down on the ground-- not a violent, accidental fall, but rather a deliberate
spur-of-the-moment movement. the me in the foreground hears the
movement and turns to look at what has happened, breaking eye contact with
the camera for the first time. it starts snowing. the film ends.
Page 10
 “the precentor leads a prayer” "spark walk"

faulty components, i'm eating all your envelopes:

wired hastily, the adhesive occupies my belly
are the bane of our machinist. and constricts my insides
tighter, tighter,
place. re-place. adjust. learning fright.
i will lose what i thought was me,
she pours her heart into the bridgework, and not replace it with anything.
with tiny eyes darting back and forth, but i'll be lithe and sprightly,
round and white in her skull like spider eggs. and that will be enough
to get me home tonight.
a creature plants
its talons in the firmament. and i will appear to you
so waifish, so precious and kind.
--and it is so. a hulking monolith tell me i’m not on your mind.
emerges from the aether of creation.

our valued machinist has

birthed her radio transmitter unto “twelve dollars and a firm handshake”
this void.
gravel embeds in skin
she cracks her knuckles. just as sin specks my shell &
she gets in range. freckles up my dingy face.
she broadcasts her plans but i am finished with singing
“my demise, my demise.”
that skip across the
surface of whichever cosmic surprise is
my yanking my strings:
brain
i thank thee, but it is time
like a stone, for me to cut loose--
thrown i look forward
with Godless precision. to our meeeting
but now is not
the right opportunity.

there is so much screaming left to do!

“interrogate me”

details
enhanced, and then
destroyed by scrutiny.
a body does what a mirror wants;
blooms, wilts.

Page 9 Page 6
 “a lamb stands up on 45th street” “pulp maiden”

i want animals to take over my terrain 30 years after my nuclear meltdown : i i keep cutting my hands and fingers
want plants to grow in spite of themselves : i want the ukrainian government on these corrugated cardboard boxes at work.
to construct a massive protective shield and move it slowly into place around they’re surprisingly sharp.
me so my radioactivity does not spread further into the environment \\\ i have
been blamed for thousands of deaths and birth defects so please ensure the i pretend that i don’t like it.
safety of my exclusion zone and prepare to dismantle me, i will find love in i feign the notion that i never pine for the feeling
every fragment that falls of my blood on the outside of my skin.

i tell everyone who loves me that i’m recovering

“meet & part &” but as long as i’m getting into these minuscule workplace accidents,
i don’t know if i can genuinely claim that.
hello body goodbye body
tower of bibles in my best-laid plans, i’m fixing the broken machinery
spelling mistakes in exam questions of my body and mind, and uncovering the
large red exclamation mark fossilized affection i could finally have for the

find a plant and kill it people close to me. i want to be dancing,

reptile eyes swaying my hips with my sisters-- but i fear that in reality,
depletion of resources all i’m doing is replacing the old scars with
no one says that name anymore
fresh ones. i seethe at the counter.
curled up dead spider demure, with welled-up tears in my eyes.
is she coming home i have mastered this silent squirming;
her mother wants to see her
yellow moon goodnight moon in looks,
//\\//\o/\\//\\ in breaths, in
tiny twitches.

“poem for a video i saw online” in the way i choke out these thank-yous to customers.
weakly spitting the words onto the counter
water snake climbs out of pond like peach pits
slides up pant leg into man’s lap
to indulge in offering of fish

water snake, skin like golf ball

and pleasantly chilly to
touch

it reminds of nights spent in bed

shivering and smiling
and picking at fingernails

water snake snaps mighty

jaws down upon dying fish
and weaves back into lake

then, submerges and nobody

ever sees it again for the rest of
its life

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