Miss Self-Composedness

by Polly Conway

Author’s note: The poems in this series were created using found language from spam emails.

 

Paint lips with zinc

oxide, frosting

mouth for my lantern

jawed lover

to lick; his chin

cleft could

hold me easy.

Pop my cherry, finally.

 

Sleep-heavy I

but a serf. (Spoiler

alert: It’s not

what you think,

I’m a brave-spirited

sprat, root-hardy

 

mistress—I’ll grow

through dolomite

like wire) A hollow

straw slick with inner

rime, ready-winged I

 

sing the iron meter: I call myself

these things because I am them, remember?

The snow-sprinkled poppy commands mice

to battle with a bicycle bell. I

pen this couplet!

Thank God: I come

in my dreams and feel it

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