By Liam Strong
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mentions of death, suicidal ideation
which i stop
paying attention to roughly 14 seconds in. the thesis
of course
is that you’re a moron if
you fall. duh. he scrapes whitefish scales off
his gloves like nickels. furthermore
in bullets:
- [you] + [are] + [a(n) expletive] ≠ a metaphor. it just is. sometimes
we’ll refer to these as facts.
- the cornfield enjambed with
snow. the shanks of pines, skin
protecting weaker skin.
- my half-grandfather, the other one, his faith an xl
beach shirt on a body barely five foot.
- four inches later a skull is augured into. wind breaks on his
body, its orange chitin. i think i have nothing
of his. his ghost with more meat on his bones.
- usually, the skim is not slippery until it is. slush beneath
the tongue, preserved.
- citations needed for balmy winters, sprigs of hair growing
back after a surgery shave. juice in the joints latched
up like a gate.
{insert photo of me dying. i have died so many times, will die probably many more. it’s a footnote of life, the reel back into one’s eyes. beavers corralled firewood at the hinge between
lakes. if i went nearer, i would have set it on fire, like relief or revision. i need so little warmth anymore. jackets or coats, the difference between two hands, smaller than definitions. we can’t
fish for conclusion, can only say thank you, yes, my time is up, i don’t want to take any more of what’s yours. we don’t have to make a ritual of it, this wake without waves. he wouldn’t have
wanted that. duh. it’s an easy ask, to be that surface level. to want the kind of death that just kills you.}
Liam Strong (they/them) is a disembodied genderless question mark and the author of three chapbooks. They died in 2020 and have been writing ever since. Find them on Instagram: @beanbie666. https://linktr.ee/liamstrong666
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