fuck / marry / kill

by Michael Russell 

who the fuck
 
*
 
was that swamp thing
hanging
like a cumrag
on your desktop?
 
*
 
            mikey / don’t / ask him that / don’t be that /
            mean / sit
            down / root / ground /         don’t
                                                 crack don’t crack / don’t /
                      
*
 
when I tried to speak,
the words
floated like corpses
inside my throat,
adam’s apple cored
& split, chewed,
swallowed.
 
mikey,
you little fuck,
you big baby,
you emotional cannibal,
you…are adorable
 
when your face boils
rum red, salts with shame.
 
*
 
boyfriend, when you wrote that love letter—was it before or after you dug your tongue into the socket of a camera? before or after your laptop burned white / hot with the blistered heat of genitals?
 
*
 
                                                                      ????????????????????????
 
*
 
hey, it’s been a few days
since we last spoke
& i was wondering
if your fingers drifted
like ships in seawater,
lighthoused the android
humming at your bedside?
                                                                       
*
 
a cock on cam / is a fishhook / throbbing with bate / & a pussy / a fishnet / tossed sloppy / & cast like a spell / catch / the kitty / catch / an asshole / puckered & gaping / waiting / like a school / of red / -bellied piranhas /
                                                                   
*
 
dude! show me ur butt!
 
*
 
no.
     no.
          no.
               no.
 
who
 
*
 
warmed your eyes like crab / apples, wormed their tongue into the wet slosh of your lubed asshole?
 
 
 
                                                                                                                    call them succubus, call them
 
*
 
                                                                                                                                                       succubus.
 
*
 
i’ll never know
their body, how
ripped or angled,
sharp, their face
pixelated with lag
compared to mine.
                                      anonymous,
                                      let me carve you
                                      into mannequin, let me
                                   
             fetch my knife.
 
*
 
boyfriend said he liked his twinks
so, i bought him a sexbot & shaved
an inch off its waist, chiseled thin
its hips, abs, pecs. hmm! we need
to program an objective. boyfriend,
do you want someone to fuck? marry?
spoon? gut? good. i made sure
it’s beardless. now, what do you need
from it? a power bottom? dom top? a flip
-flop? do you want someone quiet?
someone who talks? nerdom? sports? tell me!
do you want to fuck it, marry it or kill it?
 
*
 
what’s wrong / with you? / do you want me / to break up with you?
 
*
 
no.
 
just remind me why
after we said goodnight
& the lights dimmed
& the city stumbled
into sleep, you reached
for your camera & a man
to stroke, cocks
growing until they bust
 
fireworks / gunshots.
​
Michael Russell (he / they) is Mama Bear to chapbook Grindr Opera (Frog Hollow Press). He’s queer, has BPD, Bipolar Disorder and way too much anxiety. His work has appeared in Arc Poetry Magazine, Heavy Feather Review, Homology Lit, Plenitude among other places. He lives in Canada and thinks you’re fantabulous. Insta: @michael.russell.poet