2026

man-made tunnels cut through my body
the police shove neon orange poles throughout
to see which way the bullets came

they say words i haven't spoken
and speak of actions i'd not done

reboned
resewn
rebirthed
but not retired

i pray for the puppetmaster
to let a glimpse of his hand peak over the curtain
so the audience will know
who's words they are,
shoved backwards up my throat

martyrdom, at least the first few stanzas, are loosely based on the legacy of one Rachel Scott. who you may know as the first victim of the columine massacre. her family, and the larger christian community around her, fictionalized and romanticized her death as a so-called christian martyr by spreading dubious information and just straight-up lying at times. i think a lot about the way her family completely turned her into a tool for proselytizing, and it's something i think about a lot as someone who has dealt with circumstances oddly similar (though not exact) to this situation in regards to my dad's death.

eucharists until 2 am
for the low, low price
of $6.99
—served in a tall glass

"serpent of temptation,
will you buy me one more drink?"

the back of the taxi
are my silken sheets
sweat-stuck skin welds together;
the leather seat to my back,
and a hand on my thigh

the driver,
a witness to divine violation
i drag the divider closed
"oh mary, full of grace,"
i utter with bated breath
"the lord is not with us"

his touch glides across my lips
and down my sternum

an arched back
a broken halo
a curled finger

had the court of trent not considered
how a man feels delving?
could the crescent-shaped divots on my thighs
be acceptable mortification?