by Julia Aless
an apocalyptic gondolier a blurry-visioned ballerina
the patron saint of chokers and cheek filler a 6’5” ghost who smells like tv static
a planet-eating robot revered by the planet the blue boy with make-believe shoes–
just considering options, clinging to wind,
no strings or skin;
printing out pixels to put in my scrapbook like locks of hair,
microdosed love typed with chasm-dust fingers,
blown by technological angels to my phone
and barely leaving kisses on my brain.
this is a tuesday night scandal for the recluse
who stopped chugging life undiluted.
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Julia Aless is a Brazilian-American novelist and poet based in Orlando, FL, with a degree in Art History from Princeton University.